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Saturday 29th 56-73F, uniform grey skies despite the promise of an endlessly, sunny day. France has broken its all time, highest temperature record with a rather half-hearted 45.9C = 115F. Any proud nation, worth its salt, would have gone for the full 46C and hang the expense in taxpayer's money. Fortunately we have it on the highest scientific authority [Proff. Herr Chump Née Koch] that this isn't remotely due to global warming.
My back is improving slowly but I still have to be careful about lifting bags of compost over my head. I kid you not! The Head Gardener had asked me if I had my military grade, exo-skeleton in the boot when she let me out of the servant's entrance. Of course I lied and then duly suffered the consequences for gross insubordination. I should have sent our domestic robot instead, but had begged to be allowed out just to get away from the endless household chores. Though, of course, I hadn't mentioned the real excuse.
The supermarket stack of compost bags was literally above my head height in my best, sling back sandals! I should have gone next door where it was a penny cheaper. And, the stacks were more human-orientated. All thanks to adult supervision of the miserably paid, prepubescent staff so typical of today's, Danish, supermarket chains. Have you noticed how they always have [badly] handwritten and badly faded recruiting notices for new, under-13 staff by the checkouts?
Which probably explains why you never see the same innocent face twice. There they are in the sweet-buying queue one day. Then serving their junior school chums the next. The shock may be too much for many of them! How will they possibly cope without the constant support of their 'phones? I do hope the supermarket chain is offering PTSD therapy to those staff affected by the shocking transition to an [albeit temporary] "hands free" existence? Perhaps we should be told?
The Danish news media was smirking at the fleet of huge, Germanic, ministerial cars lined up for the Newly Green Government Ministers. Not a Tesla Roadster in sight! Do you think they are saving that one for me? I have registered an interest in being the first to own a Free Tesla Roadster under the Newly Green Government's Trade-in Policy For a Much Greener Future. After all, I think I have done my bit for the planet in pedalling my trike for 16,000km / 10,000 miles per year to the shops. [Albeit with a few minor detours.] There surely never was anybody more deserving, than I? Though I do hate to blow my own trumpet. 😇
Being the unsung hero of my own legend I was urged on my way this morning by THG wielding a sharpened, garden cane. Simultaneously, Her well-polished megaphone provided gentle advice on posture and pace as I limped away. Not daring to glance back to avoid a certain charge of insubordination.
At first the traffic was completely absent. The utter silence leading me to suspect foul play. Further suggesting a careful glance behind every hedge for lurking Triffids might be wise. Alas it was not to be! Humanity soon reared its ugly head in the form of a young woman driving while talking the usual bølløcks into her mobile phone.
The next example on the conveyor belt of doom was a young family of four. With the male driver managing a perfect owl impression. As he reassured his doting passengers in the rear seats that, yes, he could drive with his head on backwards. Even if it meant mowing down the odd, composting septuagenarian in full, but painfully limping, flight.
Needless to say I have returned all but unscathed. Or you would not be suffering this continuing diatribe. Though there was some minor drama. As a combine harvester hid behind a roadside signpost as a car drove the other way. Of course it had to happen just as they were due to pass me going in opposite directions. It was ever thus. I duly dived for the crops on the other side of the narrow verge and was rewarded with a temporary stay of my near-death experience.
The descents were the worst part of today's walk but went unseen by THG's powerful binoculars. Overcoming my suffering in record time for the walk to the lanes and back required ten minutes of intense interrogation on my return. How could I possibly argue against the video evidence? Even if it wouldn't stand up in a Danish court.
Any chance of a ride, do I hear? Yesterday's major faux pas was returning without butter even though THG [Praise be Her Name] hadcrossed butter out on the shopping list. She told me that she had carefully explained that she meant that I should buy butter. Sadly this had escaped me by the time I had endured my quarterly, close shearing. Besides, She was talking into my deaf ear as I sat in the car, heart pounding, just waiting for Her to drop the flag. Which, of course, is to initiate the timing of my escape outing to the nearest hundredth of a second.
Fresh from my "miracle cure" in reaching the lanes on foot, I sprang onto my trike for a shopping trip. On my return, 7 miles later, I was ready for a short triathlon and I can't even swim. I had ridden like a maniac at 18mph and 150rpm towards the village shops. Returning into more of a headwind at 16mph. Rumours of my recent demise were obviously exaggerated. The only tricycling superhero in the village rides again!
My back is improving slowly but I still have to be careful about lifting bags of compost over my head. I kid you not! The Head Gardener had asked me if I had my military grade, exo-skeleton in the boot when she let me out of the servant's entrance. Of course I lied and then duly suffered the consequences for gross insubordination. I should have sent our domestic robot instead, but had begged to be allowed out just to get away from the endless household chores. Though, of course, I hadn't mentioned the real excuse.
The supermarket stack of compost bags was literally above my head height in my best, sling back sandals! I should have gone next door where it was a penny cheaper. And, the stacks were more human-orientated. All thanks to adult supervision of the miserably paid, prepubescent staff so typical of today's, Danish, supermarket chains. Have you noticed how they always have [badly] handwritten and badly faded recruiting notices for new, under-13 staff by the checkouts?
Which probably explains why you never see the same innocent face twice. There they are in the sweet-buying queue one day. Then serving their junior school chums the next. The shock may be too much for many of them! How will they possibly cope without the constant support of their 'phones? I do hope the supermarket chain is offering PTSD therapy to those staff affected by the shocking transition to an [albeit temporary] "hands free" existence? Perhaps we should be told?
The Danish news media was smirking at the fleet of huge, Germanic, ministerial cars lined up for the Newly Green Government Ministers. Not a Tesla Roadster in sight! Do you think they are saving that one for me? I have registered an interest in being the first to own a Free Tesla Roadster under the Newly Green Government's Trade-in Policy For a Much Greener Future. After all, I think I have done my bit for the planet in pedalling my trike for 16,000km / 10,000 miles per year to the shops. [Albeit with a few minor detours.] There surely never was anybody more deserving, than I? Though I do hate to blow my own trumpet. 😇
Being the unsung hero of my own legend I was urged on my way this morning by THG wielding a sharpened, garden cane. Simultaneously, Her well-polished megaphone provided gentle advice on posture and pace as I limped away. Not daring to glance back to avoid a certain charge of insubordination.
At first the traffic was completely absent. The utter silence leading me to suspect foul play. Further suggesting a careful glance behind every hedge for lurking Triffids might be wise. Alas it was not to be! Humanity soon reared its ugly head in the form of a young woman driving while talking the usual bølløcks into her mobile phone.
The next example on the conveyor belt of doom was a young family of four. With the male driver managing a perfect owl impression. As he reassured his doting passengers in the rear seats that, yes, he could drive with his head on backwards. Even if it meant mowing down the odd, composting septuagenarian in full, but painfully limping, flight.
Needless to say I have returned all but unscathed. Or you would not be suffering this continuing diatribe. Though there was some minor drama. As a combine harvester hid behind a roadside signpost as a car drove the other way. Of course it had to happen just as they were due to pass me going in opposite directions. It was ever thus. I duly dived for the crops on the other side of the narrow verge and was rewarded with a temporary stay of my near-death experience.
The descents were the worst part of today's walk but went unseen by THG's powerful binoculars. Overcoming my suffering in record time for the walk to the lanes and back required ten minutes of intense interrogation on my return. How could I possibly argue against the video evidence? Even if it wouldn't stand up in a Danish court.
Any chance of a ride, do I hear? Yesterday's major faux pas was returning without butter even though THG [Praise be Her Name] had
Fresh from my "miracle cure" in reaching the lanes on foot, I sprang onto my trike for a shopping trip. On my return, 7 miles later, I was ready for a short triathlon and I can't even swim. I had ridden like a maniac at 18mph and 150rpm towards the village shops. Returning into more of a headwind at 16mph. Rumours of my recent demise were obviously exaggerated. The only tricycling superhero in the village rides again!
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