Sunday arrived and the imprtant task of the day was to alter the numerous clocks in our house.
Apparently at this time of the year the clocks spring forward. I’ll share with you now that with the exception of our phones, non of our clocks do any springing. They rely on Clare and I laboriously adjusting them. Most of the clocks are easy to do but we have one large wall clock, a bit like a station clock, that is a real buggar. The hole where the wall fixing goes into is so small that it takes an age to get the clock hung up. Couple that with the weight of the item and you will see it’s a task and a half.
The normal procedure is for me to hold it up and Clare say left a bit, right a bit etc. It always reminds me of The Golden Shot. Those of a certain age will remember the TV programme with the brilliant Bob Monkhouse, the numerically challenged Anne Aston but the real star was Bernie The Bolt. I always wanted to be Bernie when I grew up. He only worked a few minutes a week, was famous and got to hang around with the lovely Anne.
Anyway I am rambling on and as far as I am concerned this particular clock can stay wrong, until it’s right again – who cares.
It was a really cold day, looking through the window gave a false impression. If you had parts of your body that were prone to shrivell then yesterday was the day it was going to happen.
After dog walking and preparatory vegetable peeling I ventured out into our rear garden to do a bit more to the rapidly progressing raised beds. I was well layered against the biting wind but it was still nipping at parts that I didn’t realise I still had.
After two large mixes of cement and several kerb edges placed I was surprised to see a friend standing at my garden boundary. Mr C was out for his daily exercise and had walked in a loop from his Horningtoft country estate. We stood chatting from distance for a while and it was nice to see anyone, but particularly nice to see Stuart.
Shortly after Stuart had gone I popped into see Clare who was beavering away at her massive jigsaw. I told her I had been chatting to Mr C and she said that she had realised, initially thinking that I had been having a sneaky wee in the garden
A few things struck me.
Whilst I have to be honest and say that I have occasionally had a sneaky wee wee in our grounds, I certainly would not do a hands free, hip swinging piddle into the  ferocious face of a biting wind. Any attempt would have led to serious blowback issues.
The second thing was that if I had had a self isolating wee wee in the grounds I would not have done it in full view of the Harper’s Green residents. At best it would have put them off their sirloin and yorkies and possibly deterred them from desiring sausage sarnies for the rest of their lives.
That said, if I had felt the need, been unbothered by the strong wind and local residents then it would have necessitated some form of complex, titanium instrument, used in micro surgery procedures, to even contemplate the act.
We enjoyed our tea, crisp roasties etc and a second plate sagging portion of our famous lemon drizzle, one portion left.
The Tele was OK and we look forward to doing much the same today. That said we are back on the beer and wine embargo and limping through to happy Friday
Take care and keep safe
Ian Clare and the furries
PS – My claim to fame yesterday was that I chatted live on Radio¬† Norfolk to David Whiteley – It was an extensive conversation about 15 seconds, but he did call me a “Good man”
Piddle