~o~
There has been so much rain in Denmark that the authorities are going to demolish a bridge. Why? Because it is limiting the outflow of the local, sewage treatment works. The bridge lies on a bus route and will seriously inconvenience passengers, pedestrians and cyclists for many months. Before a new crossing can be designed and built.
France and the UK have set more weather records. This time it was highest wind speeds. Though it could have been extreme heatwaves, extreme floods or extreme rainfall. In fact almost anything you never bothered to imagine in your worst nightmares. Meanwhile, Italy had the heaviest rain ever recorded in a few minutes. Who is to blame? You and seven billion others who voted for them. If, or when, you were given a [supposed] choice. Chocolate teapots! The lot of you! And them. 😏
7.45 Time for a walk!
9.00 I made a quick inspection of the unchanged back fields. Then eventually reached my usual turning point in the lanes. The wind was cold on my hands but the Gore-Tex jacket has become my go to protection against the weather so far. When suitably dressed, underneath, it's lightweight shell is warm enough and windproof enough. Without the extreme weight of my Ventile jacket. The pockets are roomy and more useful than gloves so far. The Ventile so relatively stiff that it hinders movement and comfort.
The substandard poppers and zips of the ageing, Gore-Tex jacket are a bore but easily manageable. I would be wary of scrambling through the forest in the Gore-Tex. The heavy Ventile cotton would simply brush off such treatment and frequently has. The Gore-Tex would probably catch and tear on the countless, protruding branches.
Though I haven't been through the forest for ages. I can't summon up the motivation for what was once an almost daily stroll. Despite my not mentioning my wife, so often these days, she is always in my thoughts. Everything I see, touch and do reminds me of her. Including almost every detail of my walks. Or when returning home. I would bring back hundreds of pictures to share with her.
Life without her often seems utterly meaningless during the daytime. While my stock of over a half century of memories is constantly being dredged up at night. I wake from the most unlikely dreams. Where we interacted in the most ridiculous situations. To realise that I shall never hear her voice again. At least, not while I am awake.
9.45. Very dark overcast. I had better pretend to shop in another village. There must be something I desperately need. It will have to be in the MM. It is too windy for the e-bike. Not that I am unsafe in such conditions. I can cope with sudden side gusts on leaving the shelter of a hedge. No, it's the Crash Test Zombies. Who race past me only inches from my elbow.
Because they have to give room to the only oncoming car for miles. Instead of easing off the throttle briefly. In good time to give themselves the whole width of the road after the other car has safely passed. Sadly, that would require the CTZs are actually reading the road. A lost art, as they stare at their phones or driving screens. For the latest update in their completely virtual, fantasy, social lives.
I was overtaken on my last ride, in heavy rain, by a builder's van. No doubt on his way home to watch football, porn or a soap. Or already doing so. He waited until the road flooding, of two huge puddles actually joined in the middle of the road, to overtake me. Registered blind, a sociopath or a retard? [Enter a woke expression for "mentally handicapped" if the term offends you.]
No, just another, averagely, piss-poor driver. Brain in neutral, mouth open, like all mouth breathers. No anticipation of upcoming hurdles to be wary of and overcome. The usual arrangement. Which kills millions of "innocents" every year.
Fortunately we keep breeding to replenish our losses. It's in our genes. Or, the algorithm. Which ensures. that, whichever teenage alien is playing this stupid, planetary game. Never runs out of expendable extras. Unfortunately the race to build new extras leads to a constant degradation of IQ. On the upside, many of these "extras" will soon become redundant. Let's call them "road kill." It seems most apt.
After returning home it became even darker. Though still dry. So I have added a vintage standard lamp to my lighting array. Including another, matching green lampshade. I need to find a smaller LED bulb to fit E27. Those I have are all for the E14 thread. There is an identical standard lamp outside. Which has been braving the elements under the roof overhang for over a year.
I should have brought it indoors but saw no use for it at the time. They were never lit in all the years the pair had been in our custody. They sat forlornly in the corner of the ridiculously overcrowded, living room. The lamps are unusual in having a massive, cast iron, mushroom shaped base. With a chromed, swan neck to the bulb holder. Which can be adjusted for tilt, height and sweep. A beautifully knurled thumb wheel provides the locking.
Mostly painted cream. Which might suggest a medical or industrial setting. The adjustability and stability is unique by modern standards. An image search strongly supports a medical floor lamp diagnosis. Probably from the first half of the last century. I had better rescue the one outside! The lampshade in the picture is borrowed from the front hall. The clips on the smaller shades will only fit on small bulbs.
Goofle said to boil the broccoli for 3-4 minutes. I gave it four but the fish fingers weren't quite finished according to the timer. So the broccoli probably had five minutes as the pan went slowly off the boil. The result was perfect texture and a wonderful taste. The butter probably helped.
The irony is that I cut several more florets from the head but they wouldn't go in the medium sized pan I had chosen. Ah well, I'll know what to do next time. A bigger pan! Be warned, I may bore my diminishing number of readers with tales of broccoli from now on. 😋
~o~
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