Monday 23 October 2023

A sock or a hat?

 And the whirlwind continues, not least through our front door, coupled with hailstones. Although we  didn’t bear the main brunt of these, my friend a few miles away had some the size of cricket balls which smashed up his 3 cars, his pool liner and a good part of the roof of his house. Not a good day to be outside!  And we also now have an abundance of grass as, since I sold all the sheep, it has rained continuously, so much in fact that is hard to spot the creatures hiding beneath it. Hopefully the price of hay is good this year. And the lawnmower holds out.

Last weekend I completed my very first after-dinner speaking engagement in Carlisle, something which I have been wanting to do for some time. I think it went well, and there was much laughter, but maybe not from the suspected hecklers whom I nipped in the bud with a few cutting remarks from the get-go. Not sure I need to appoint an agent just yet but it cant have done me any harm, unless I get a visit from the heavies at the Flat-earth society from whom I did get a few cheap gags at their expense.

I am writing this from a mile high,  or whatever elevation Ryanair fly above the clouds these days.  We are heading for a four day break in Dublin as it is once again time for the European rugby finals, and some Guinness obviously.  We are surrounded by burly rugby fans but,  strangely, the woman sitting behind me is knitting what looks like a sock. Since when was it permissible to take a pair of razor sharp needles on to an aircraft, but not a corkscrew? And should I have worn my stab vest?  This weekend is an annual excursion for us as the finals move around Europe every year, next year being announced at Arsenal’s football ground in London, where-ever that is. With the world cup in France this year and British Lions next year in Oz, the old ‘oval’ ball is never too far from the agenda in our lives at present. The problem with all this is I am struggling to fit in my day job of being an author with a huge backlog and looming deadlines. Couple all this with a few months on the road with the sheep for half the summer and something will have to give.

It might be a hat.

Meanwhile,  in a bid to promote my most recent work I foolishly signed up to TicToc and immediately wished I hadn't; but now I can't run from it as it bombards my phone with videos of drunk people dancing or cats falling out of trees.  I swear I have uninstalled the app three times,  only to find it reinstalls itself overnight.  So what a breath of fresh air it must be to live in Montana where it has been banned completely so people can once again talk to each other using their mouths. If Only they were able to delete it? Which brings me round to the machine I am writing on,  something called a Yoga, which is equally as complicated as all my wife's other gadgets. But sadly,  unlike most folks that do yoga,  this thing has a mind of its own and only works properly if you shout at it.  And that,  so I'm told,  is unacceptable behavior on a Boeing to get 737. So that's all folks,  frustration ends here with screaming.

No, definitely a sock… .       

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