Tuesday 19 April 2011

Days Gone By 18_04_2011

Sitting on a bench on my verandah I'm listening to Radio 4 but am predominantly hearing the singing of blackbirds winching in the nearby trees. Feeling the strength of the sun I momentarily take leave of the wisecracking characters of Fags Mags and Bags to apply sunblock to my face and arms. As I return to the sunbathed verandah I spot a nuclear submarine making its way down the Clyde. Is it heading for the Med to frighten the poor besieged Colonel, I wonder? How far will it get before it breaks down? A program on the financial plight of Barrow on Furnace, where the sub was probably built, preceded the sitcom I'm now listening to.


Noon, and I switch channels to Radio 5 Live and listen to Gabby trying to seduce her colleagues with “did you miss me while I was away” enquiries. My attention is somehow drawn to my wee garden. I see my dandelions are doing well this year, not so my jaggy nettles, though. Maybe it's the lawn which hasn't been mowed since last autumn that has stirred my conscience. On a sudden I come to a decision and silence the coquettish Gabby. Nothing personal gal, just that a man's gotta do etc.

An hour and a torn pair of jeans later the lawn is mowed; all seventeen square yards of it. I feel no sense of accomplishment as I retake my seat on the verandah. It's simply a case of a chore having been done rather than any satisfaction of a job well done. On reflection in haircutting terms I suppose it would be an “I-want-my-money-back” job.

I swallow a bottle of water and think about lunch. I'll do something about it anon. How long have I got before anon is no longer anon? Those blackbirds are still at it. I eventually make two sandwiches for lunch: one roast beef, and the other liver and bacon pate. I wash them down with a nice cup of Twinings English Breakfast tea. And then I munch my way through a couple of croissants – I do like my croissants – and wash them down with another nice cup of tea.

I spend another two hours on the verandah listening to Asha Bhosle singing Bollywood songs, and reading a crime thriller by Gordon Ferris: The Hanging Shed. The book is set in 1940's South West Scotland and invokes quite a bit of nostalgic terms. For instance he mentions the children's game of Gird and Cleek; the Scots term for hoop rolling. Ah, those good old days, which weren't really.

Clouds begin to cover the sun and I head in to watch the Twenty20 cricket on the telly.