A humble sausage sandwich for breakfast. The evidence has been destroyed in the usual way. I say humble but not sure the sausages expressed any humility as they went down. Go on, eat me. Might as well.
Perhaps I meant a simple sausage sandwich. Certainly not majestic. The sausage, as the product of common endeavour, couldn’t claim to be majestic. The majestic pig? George Orwell revisited.
This morning’s chorus was brought to you by a chaffinch, robin, blue tit, sparrow, wood-pigeon, dunnock and blackcap. Milkman came at 03:50.
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We are now southbound at the speed of the Silver Bullet. THG driveth. I’m treating today as a weekend day as is oft the case. Bank Holiday. As you know we are off to Sarfend to see Pink Martini, manăna. Sarfend Pavilion.
As you may know I no longer have a car and although I am happy to share the driving where appropriate/relevant/required I also like sitting in the passenger seat doing stuff.
As we drive down the Great North Road the countryside is coming into leaf. Blossom adorns the roadside hedgerows. It is the best time of year. A mild drizzle is evident as we race past Stamford. This is why our land is green and pleasant. I quite like the rain.