Dawn appears to be 6am. I know this because I was up at it. Wow. The seasons are moving on apace. Soon dawn will no longer be at 6am then it will again. They keep messing around with the clocks.
As I was walking downstairs an unusual thought occurred to me. Have you even given consideration to the ignominious fate of the fish finger. Actually I don’t mean the fish finger itself which is destined either to be consumed by some grubby kid together with oven chips slathered in tomato ketchup or as the filling of a sandwich by a discerning adult with more sophosticated culinary tastes. I mean the fish within the finger. Seems a strange way to end your life. Chopped into rectangular bits, coated in breadcrumbs, stuck in a cardboard box and consigned to a freezer. Oo the shame of it. No difference I guess to being shoved in a rectangular wooden box and stuck in the ground.
I suppose if I was a fish once I’d been caught and my very last living piscine breath squeezed out of me I wouldn’t care. I am unlikely to leave a mourning shoal behind me staring poignantly as the trawler disappeared into the distance lamenting my untimely fate. Most of them would be with me in the hold of the trawler anyway I guess.
Funny what springs to mind as you head downstairs to make the tea innit. I had a fish finger sandwich for dinner last night
A meteorite hit my car last night. No it didn’t really but that would certainly have grabbed your attention. A bit of clickbait innit. What prompted the remark was the news item this morning about a guy who had found a rare bit of meteorite on his driveway. The fireball the night before had been well publicised and he knew to call The UK Fireball Network – @FireballsUK on twitter.
My point is to imagine the scenario where the meteorite had not landed safely on the drive, in presumably a smoking crater, but had hit his car. With hindsight he should have put the car in the garage but who can fit a car in their garage these days? As it happens on this occasion that bit of hindsight is irrelevant because it didn’t hit his car. The point is, and I am still coming to it, could you imagine the telephone conversation with the insurance company? “Your car was hit by what?”. It’s a bit like the car insurance ad where someone telephones to say they’ve crashed into a petshop and their car is surrounded by escaped animals. An amusing enough ad but not that good because I can’t remember the name of the insurance company.
Sbeen a good news filled day and has therefore flown by. We need em. Sue is going to be allowed to visit dad in his “assisted care facility” in Cardiff so that is a big step forward. It feels almost as if that single piece of news heralds the start of life beginning again. It is springtime after all. Making progress on all fronts.
This afternoon Tom the tree man and his “henchmen” came to work on the garden. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea about Tom’s henchmen. The word perhaps suggests nefarious side-kicks but in actual fact Tom’s assistants are very nice blokes and competent to boot. Outcome of Tom’s visit is a nicely trimmed hedge with all the offcuts removed for disposal in a suitable environmentally friendly manner. If I had to do it myself it would take days and the job would not have been as good.
I’ve now downed tools and am playing some loud tunes. Fish pie for dinner but the gong has not yet sounded.
I want to break free but it is only Tuesday. Breaking free can only really happen from Thursdays onwards although Wednesdays have been permissible during lockdown.
Just a quick note to say you’re looking fabulous. I like the way you do your hair and you look great in that top.
Cometh the hour cometh the striking of the cathedral bells. The bishop needs no watch. Herding sheep is not a game it’s a calling. Does he milk ewes? Someone must although I’ve never seen it in a supermarket. Must be online ordering.
The cathedral bells are striking but only when the wind is from the West. Otherwise they follow the rule of refrigeration which states that the lights are never on when the front transcept doors are closed, unless you happen to be looking up at the stained glass windows.
One does wonder whether the Bishop has the occasional quiet go at bell ringing, if such a thing is possible. The quiet campanologist! He must need to practise. The goal is change-ringing perfection but this is totally unattainable in the way that a carpet must always show a flaw. That’s why the bish needs to stay involved. The decision of when to introduce a flaw is his call. The burden of executive responsibility. We’ve all been there.
The crashing of the earthenware jug on the floor of stone. The metaphor of the jug. Deuteronomy 28:17. Only kidding. No idea really. Just made that bit up. It’s not all imaginary. Maybs. I’ll leave you to decide.