1974. A different century, a different place and a very
different world.
46 years ago today Mr S-V and I got married. Yes, I know… it’s
impossible, I don’t look old enough, I must have been a child bride! Very kind
of you to say so… but, sadly, I think you should have gone to Specsavers!
Still no chance of going out for dinner or away for a weekend (there’s a hell of a
long line of events we’ve not been able to celebrate properly this year) so… I
made some scones, M&S provided the clotted cream and there was the strawberry
jam I made last week from our own fruit. A cup of tea and a glass of chilled Prosecco
completed things. It would have been nice to have had our cream tea in the garden,
but it’s been blowing a gale and not very warm. It’s the end of June, for
goodness sake! None of it was quite what we had in mind, but there you go. Needs
must.
The blasted virus still rumbles on with most of the media
talking up the threat of a second wave – well, they have to say something, I
suppose, or people might start to notice how truly irrelevant most media is.
There was a piece on the BBC this morning detailing the
hoops you’ll need to jump through if you feel like having guests when we’re
finally allowed to. After thoroughly cleaning your house
and re-arranging the furniture (!), you’ll need to arm your guests with a cleaning cloth
and a bleach spray for them to disinfect the loo after they use it; for further
safety it’s best to ask them to bring their own plates, glasses and cutlery which they’ll have to take home to wash! Oh, and no singing! What…??!
I’ve
only got two words to say to that little lot… one of them is ‘off’. It’d be
laughable if it wasn’t all so stupid.
Big news on the farming front: After extensive research (a quick search on Google pics) I’ve
discovered what the cereal crop is in the farmer’s back field. Oats! He’s growing
porridge! I bloody love porridge. When it’s ripe I’ll pop round with a cereal
bowl and a pint of milk for a spot of breakfast.
Or maybe it doesn’t work like
that…
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