What’s going on on Cloud 9, or wherever it is the angels and archangels meet for their daily met briefing from the Big Cheese? (For those unfamiliar with the term, ‘met’ stands for ‘meteorological’ and it’s what military pilots, amongst others, routinely get every day). I merely ask because since the Summer of Sun 2018, the weather has been uncharacteristically beautiful. Ok, there’s been the odd day here and there where Thor has lobbed thunderbolts, or some other unnamed heavenly body has had hiccups or indigestion, or both, but for the most part it has been stunning. As a relative newbie to Eastbourne perhaps this is unexceptional? Maybe there is a Camelotian microclimate here where, in the apocryphal words of King Arthur, “the climate must be perfect all the year”? Where “the rain may never fall till after sundown, by eight the morning fog must disappear”? Somehow that doesn’t seem plausible though. Maybe it’s just the swings and borrows of outrageous fortune, or could it be that Sir David (National Treasure) Attenborough’s worst fears are already being realised and we are about to be submerged by an ENGLISH Channel overflowing from the melting icepack, with the landmass turning brown and parched as the Sahara spreads rapidly northwards, scorpions and tarantulas crawling out from every crevice and we yearn for the days when Summer occurred on July 31st and the only noticeable difference between summer and winter was how green the trees were? I’ve tried to call up Michael, (according to a psychic I once saw he is my guardian arch-angel) but the line is very crackly, on those rare occasions that he bothers to answer at all. It may be that goings on in Davos, Brussels, Westminster et al are distracting the Heavenly Body. Generally you get the answerphone saying that “we’re experiencing an exceptionally high number of calls. If your query is urgent…..”.
Harking back briefly to yesterday’s blog, am I alone in thinking that the incredibly hi-tech, low maintenance, low manpower, automated answering service now employed by most large companies and Government agencies that invites you to “press 1 for bananas, 2 for rotten apples, 3 for problem children, 4 for civil disputes, etc etc”, is a distressingly backwards step compared with the charming young telephonist who would come on after three rings with “Good morning, this is Arnold and Merryweather, Rachel speaking, how may I help you?”. Didn’t that immediately make you feel warm and fuzzy and much less likely to rant at Mr Merryweather, than going through fourteen levels of irritatingly obtuse options, none of which really apply to your simple problem, before you finally get through to an almost incomprehensible voice in Kolkata, who is trying terribly hard to please but hasn’t really got a clue what you’re talking about?
Whilst I’m going nowhere on a diversion, that psychic I mentioned wasn’t some crazed, unshaven weirdo in a kaftan and knotted handkerchief chanting incomprehensibly, but an incredibly attractive thirty something who’d given up a successful financial career in the City to advise on diet, based on an extraordinary ability to ‘read’ your ‘aura’. If you wanted, she would go deeper into your inner being; I apparently had been a Samurai warrior and a great leader of men in Ancient Greece in former lives. I confess my memory is a little hazy of such events but who knows? She did say that if I doubted her, next time I was looking to park somewhere where parking is notoriously difficult, I should call on Michael a minute or two in advance and there would magically be a space where I needed it. Being the eternal optimist I tried. Never had a problem parking since!
But back to the unusual weather to finish. I haven’t actually consulted Michael on this one at all, but I can only surmise that the Board of Governors upstairs has taken pity on a Britain racked by indecision and ruled that at the very least we’ll not suffer from SAD whilst trying to decide whether it’s Deal or No Deal. Has anyone asked Noel Edmunds? Perhaps we’re just all in Cloud Cuckoo land.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 