A week is a long time

Last Sunday, I took umbrage at the Sunday Times for an opinion piece that dismissed me, most of my friends and acquaintances, and thousands of other decent, law-abiding, intelligent, compassionate, conscientious people as Nimbys, because we object to the destruction of farmland, ripping up of trees, blighting of landscapes and spewing of greenhouse gases by building homes (mostly of dubious quality) and roads and warehouses in numbers we don’t need in locations that can’t accommodate them, because the Sunday Times, politicians and planners don’t understand the economics of the housing market, how to level up, nor the symbiotic relationship between all things nature and human wellbeing.

When it comes to long sentences, eat your heart out, Samuel Johnson.

By contrast, this week I’m the newspaper's biggest fan because of an article by Matthew Syed.  

Silver Linings

I could have entitled this blog “God moves in mysterious ways” but I thought the “G” word might offend some people. So I’ll stick with “Ag”, i.e. silver, a chemical element with the symbol Ag (from the Latin argentum), a soft, white, lustrous transition metal exhibiting the highest electrical conductivity, thermal conductivity, and reflectivity of any metal. Now you know. (Thanks, Wiki.)

You might recall that last August I had my shoulder bionic-ed (a.k.a. torn rotator cuff sorted), which necessitated slings, opiates (yum yum) and not driving for eight weeks (not so yum yum). All in all, it was a procedure full of pain, angst, inconvenience and constipation, the downside (or cloud) of the opiates, but one upshot (or silver lining) was that Hubby learned how to make flapjacks, although he never got the hang of the difference between whisking and folding for a sponge cake.

Climate change is like Brexit

The conveyor belt of storms pummelling Britain during the last few days has once again begged the question: is this evidence of climate change?

Advocates say yes. Deniers say no.

The Man in Black

I’m not a fan of ‘tribute’ acts. I prefer the real thing (the concept, not the 1970’s British soul group). I like the occasional Country Music song, but generally get bored with the migraine-inducing twangs of Tammy Wynette, incessant vibrato of Dolly Parton, or the brow-puckering, tear-jerking, gravelly audience-manipulation of Kenny Rogers.

So when Hubby said he wanted to go to a Johnny Cash tribute act in Milton Keynes yesterday evening, I suggested he take our neighbour and I’d dog-sit. I was sure I could get some gin-flavoured Purina for him. But I relented and off we went, storm Eunice? Eustace? Eunuch? well and truly past its worst but still playing havoc with my broadband connection so no point staying at home.

One helluva week

And it’s only Wednesday evening! 

I feel like I’ve attended a white-privilege awareness session, double-needlework with Miss Brown, the bitchiest teacher ever, and been stuck on a slow-moving train from Euston with drunken Watford fans crying incessantly about how they was robbed, which is a bit daft because, to be robbed, you should have something worthwhile to lose in the first place, and we are talking Watford here.

That aside, in between being berated, bitched-about and bawled-at, I’ve read, researched, written and re-organised so much, my brain is demanding a Bank Holiday.

It's Valentine's Day, but ...

Despite being sandwiched between National Tortellini Day (Celiacs look away now) on February 13th and, ironically, Singles Awareness Day on February 15th, Valentine’s Day has a much higher profile. I’m not making this stuff up – see What day is it?

The identity of the Saint who inspired this most hallowed occasion in our annual calendar is uncertain. One theory is that he died in Rome in the 3rd century (AD) and is the patron saint of lovers, epileptics, and beekeepers. Honest! Another claim to the fame is a Roman priest and physician who was martyred during the persecution of Christians by Emperor Claudius II Gothicus in about 270 AD. According to legend, St. Valentine signed a letter “from your Valentine” to his jailer’s daughter, whom he had befriended and healed from blindness. Another says Valentine defied the emperor’s orders and secretly married couples to spare the husbands from war. 

A toad surrounded by snakes

A good friend of mine thinks I left out some important issues from my “In defense of Boris?” blog of a couple of weeks ago.

One of those issues is The Leakers. They’re the real piss-takers.