That brick patio (mentioned in No 196) is proving a reluctant finisher. Here I am in the middle of a beautiful sunny day, sitting inside writing, when there is soil to be moved, sand to be shovelled and bricks to be laid. Procrastination is a wonderful thing! I remember well my Grandfather always used to say “DIN”; do it now. Good advice that I have singularly failed to follow most of my life. Sadly, my daughter seems to have inherited the disease. It’s always especially galling when someone ignores your advice, based on what you’ve consistently failed to do but know you should have.
I knew pride was coming before a fall when I was “bragging” about my various sporting activities in my previous blog. Sure enough during a rare outing playing hockey in a “friendly” training match at the Saffrons on Wednesday evening I collected a very hard hockey ball travelling at great pace from very short range right on my ankle bone. Of course I was incredibly brave and barely winced, but it became increasingly sore as the session progressed. Despite waking a whingeing wife at 1 a.m. to dig out some theoretically pain-relieving paracetamol, (I had searched the whole house before resorting to the bedside table) sleep was an elusive quality that night. A precautionary visit to A&E (an establishment with which I have become depressingly familiar) the following morning, showed no broken bones and thankfully normal service is gradually being resumed. Undeterred, I shall probably give it another go next week, being strong of arm and thick of head.
Talking of which, I encountered a really interesting argument this morning. The School’s regular tree surgeon, (we have a lot of trees) was visiting to assess what needs to be done in our row of gardens. We’ve been trying to get Tree Preservation Orders removed on three giant weeds, otherwise known as sycamores, that are destroying a wall as well as significantly reducing our sunlight. (If left to their own devices, sycamores would cover the land quicker than Covid 19). Despite many logical arguments for their reduction, if not removal, the hoops and jumps to be negotiated are daunting. During the discussion I pointed out that it isn’t only the trees that are destroying the wall, but the ever-invasive ivy too. This elicited the magnificent response that it’s not the ivy causing the damage, it’s because the mortar is too weak and old and therefore small gaps appear, which allows the ivy to infiltrate! I was curious as to when he was going to stand as our next Member of Parliament.
So, on to politics….watching Boris the Bountiful cosying up to President Joe, or Joseph Robinette Biden Jnr, at the prelude to the G7 conference I was reminded of that brilliant film Love Actually when Hugh Grant, as the British PM, oozes charm from every pore until he catches the visiting US President making unwanted advances to his secretary and future amour, at which point Grant showed uncharacteristic steel in telling the President just what little ole England thought of Big Brother. I wonder if any such scenario will evolve this week? Mr Joe seems like far too decent a gentleman (if not too old!) to be indulging in any Stateroom canoodling, but perhaps there’ll be a clash over borders/protocols/agreements/sausages or chlorinated chicken? Boris has been known to emulate the Vicar of Bray on the odd occasion.
Regular readers will perhaps remember that I have mentioned Nutri-Spec a few times, being the American functional medicine company that supply a range of supplements that are specifically designed to suit an individual’s needs. To ascertain what blend of nutrients best suits you, you take increasing amounts of their patented Oxy Tonic first thing every morning until your poos and/or gaseous emissions start to smell like rotten eggs. (At which point you have achieved ‘saturation with negative valence sulfar’ (sic) ; for the medically inclined. Oxy Tonic is a ‘potent protector against pathological hyperplasia’ just so you know). You’ll be glad to know that I achieved that embarrassingly smelly state early in the process, which means I am well sulphated, most important for fighting coronavirus, as well as general good health. Apparently.
I hear the sound of distant sharp sand…….
ADayInTheStrifeOf 