Hooray, hooray, the First of May, outdoor bonking starts today. For fans of the great outdoors and all its pleasures, it may still be a trifle on the parky side for prancing around naked in the woods, but the more adventurous may find a way?
I’m afraid the last two weeks have passed in a blur of inter-stellar travel; well ok Dorset and Somerset aren’t exactly on the moon, but finding time to sit quietly with the typewriter has proved elusive. I can belatedly report though, that winding through the narrow, sun-kissed lanes of rural Wessex has been a brilliant reminder that there is still something of old England left. The worry is that with the new lockdown craze for working from home, itinerant city-dwellers will invade the rural idyll and the peace and tranquillity that inspired Hardy et al will be gone forever. The Madding Crowd will no longer be Far. The Natives will be hoping they Return from whence they came. (Please consult Wikipedia and Thomas Hardy if all that is lost on you).
Whilst enjoying my mesmerising cruising I was reluctantly forced to refill the go-mug with a Costa contribution. It seemed to be environmentally sound that I should pass the aforementioned receptacle to the barista to refill it without wasting one of their waxed cups. However, the uniformed (not uninformed!) lady politely informed me that the latest ‘elf ‘n safety Covid rules don’t allow this. I therefore had to have one of their cups, which of course they had touched, from which I would pour the contents into the Camelbak. In a vain attempt to at least save a plastic lid, I suggested that they should leave that off as I was going to pour it straight into my mug. But no, that’s against the rules too. It seems it’s highly dangerous to pass over an uncovered cup. So it’s ok for me to drink from a paper cup with a lid that grubby hands have been all over but…..oh you get the point hopefully. Later in my journeys I stopped to fill up with petrol (actually diesel, but don’t tell anyone) and risked a refill at their Wild Bean Cafe (getting very adventurous here) and went through the same rigamarole again. Only this time they accepted my go-mug, but I had to place it into one of their china mugs, so they didn’t have to touch it. It was obviously a trainee operating the knobs and he was having a nightmare. After about ten minutes the highly qualified barista/till operative/pump attendant came to his rescue and the medium, almond milk, decaff latte was duly poured. However, as he brought it to me, he took the go-mug out of their mug and passed it to me…..a little more time required with the ‘elf ‘n safety trainers I fear!! I’m ashamed to say that I took it without getting out the wet wipes or hand sanitiser and proceeded to drink the entire contents. I’ll let you know if I end up in hospital.
The dreaded E’nS raised its ugly head almost immediately upon my return to the bosom of my family last night. Mrs T informed me that as a matter of some urgency the school admin staff would be round to bolt the Calor gas cylinders on my two barbecues to the wall. Why would this be necessary I pondered? To which the inevitable reply was “Health and Safety”! I really do fear for our future. The world has gone completely stark staring bonkers….and that’s not outdoors!
Not wishing to make this a catalogue of complaints, but I can’t resist having a swipe at C.G.Fry, the well-renowned builders of a fine new estate on the edge of Bradford on Avon, where we have invested in a small property. There are a few outside “snags” that need rectifying, which the Customer Services office have assured me on numerous occasions were on their list to fix. They would, however, need a period of dry weather to carry out the repairs. April, now sadly deceased, was the driest month since Pontius was a pilot, with day upon boring day of relentless sunshine and drought. It was only slightly disappointing then to discover that the fairly simple repair work is still outstanding….. which is more than can be said for C.G. Fry’s after-sales service!
The Bank Holiday weekend looks set to see the last of the blue skies and sunshine that we’ve so enjoyed throughout April. Monday heralds an Atlantic depression swooping in with torrential rain (much needed) and forty mile an hour winds; perfect timing just as the apples and cherries are bursting into full, spectacular bloom. Today however, I will at least stay dry as I unwillingly submit to the torture of umpiring the Eastbourne Men’s 3rd XI. They are a bunch of highly skilled, but slightly over the hill hockey players who have a reputation for truculent behaviour. The list of volunteers willing to take on the role was rather short….in fact there weren’t any. Hence muggins is stepping into the breach. It would be an understatement to say that I’m nervous, particularly as my last two outings with the whistle have been less than brilliant. The ageing cogs of the grey matter whirl a little more slowly in one’s seventieth year than once they did, sadly. Wish me luck……
ADayInTheStrifeOf 