6th December 2018. I blame the CIA!

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Thursday 6th 39F, very dark, cloudy and probably wet all day. My shoulders and elbow are a bit painful, this morning, after yesterday's tumble, but I shall press on. It goes without saying that I no longer succumb to the urge to become a tricycling amphibian.

In breaking news: CO2 is going through the roof.  Quite literally. Many Danes go semi-naked indoors in winter. I prefer a charity shop, down jacket, Long-Johns, fleece hat and saving the planet. Not that any of this would make an ideal wardrobe for this morning's inclemency.

"Cruel and unnatural treatment", I call it, being sent on a morning walk in falling rain in wholly inadequate waterproofs! This merely confirms my suspicions. That The Head Gardener has been on intensive CIA training courses during my extended absences [without formal, written permission, in triplicate] on my trike.

I kept retreating to the back of the verge to avoid being sprayed from head to foot by the passing traffic. Many drivers abused my diversionary tactics to drive closer to the verge because they no longer had to go out around me! Laziness of thought and action probably sums them up.

A series of abject failures to procure a decent rain jacket marred my recent visits to the local charity shops. I once had a look in the Danish "outdoor" shops for a "proper" rain jacket and came away drained. The sweat was beading off my brow at the prospect of going into voluntary liquidation.

I wouldn't dare go out in something that cost more than any of my secondhand cars down the years. How much would it cost to insure the jacket for use outside the home? Does it come under "contents" cover along with glittering tiaras and ex-Marie Antoinette pearl drops? My debit card's will to live was rapidly leaking away and making me distinctly sweaty.

Is it just me or is the McLardy's litter logo deliberately made to look like a pair of tits? And they call this a "family orientated" company? I can't wait until they go "tits up" when the terminally obese start blaming the middle man for all their litter and other problems.

If I was a betting person I'd wager much of this "labelled" outdoor wear is made in tottering, backstreet, sweat shops in the Far Reaches. Probably by child slaves, chained to their work benches and threatened with cattle prods in case they ever need a leak during a factory fire.

I bet the workers can't afford the products they make either. And, they have far worse weather than anything which can be thrown at any waterproof-impoverished, old tramp. Who [now involuntarily] wanders the lanes [in exile] while wearing [probably fake] squeaky, Ekko walking boots. While sheltering inside a secondhand <cough> rain jacket with all the protective qualities of common, or garden, kitchen sieve.

Click on any image for an enlargement.

 

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