Today I go to visit Kelvin, husband of Mary, who passed away on sunday. There will be friends there, and by now a lot of the paperwork will have been sorted, hopefully.
LAST NIGHTS DINNER
Ready made Cannelloni, with Cheese n Spinach
Salad a la Moi, with Feta Cheese, Little Gem Lettuce, tomatoes from garden, onion from garden in a Balsamic vinegar and Olive Oil dressing.
Little bit of Maple Walnut and ditto Belgian Chocolate Ice Cream
Hells Kitchen is back on tv, a rowdy, temper fueled show, where Gordon Ramsey shouts at contestants and upsets people. Good tv! Apart from that, there's not much else worth watching. ITV3 usually has a murder mystery on, Morse, Wycliffe, Poirot etc, so that's a good standby.
Last night I spent a lot of time on the laptop. I still have all of Mary's emails on there, so read some of them.
In one, she's talking about seeing the doctor about the drugs she has to have for her arthritis (which, in the end, killed her,) and said to the doctor,
"I might be dead by Christmas."
How poignant is that?
I'm still not weepy sad about her passing, I expect it will come out of the blue when I'm not expecting it.
The chickens are making a row, sounds like a police car siren with a mute on, like they have on trumpets. One of the chickens is still breaking an egg, so we are getting just 3 a day when that happens.
Gwen has to have ear drops for an infection, and doesn't make a fuss about it, along with her daily pain killer, which she has to have for the next 2 weeks. I must look into pet insurance. Something, with hindsight, would have saved me a lot of money.....
I have to go to the bank to get out some Euros, ready for the off on friday. As it's a long drive to Stanstead, I think we'll be driving through the night, to arrive shattered in Sardinia. I've looked at the weather, and it's hot!
Bit of a dreamy day, no sunshine, but warm. The Rayburn went out in the night and I haven't relit it yet as the house is warm. The insulation really works well. This winter will be the first with total insulation, so we'll see......
]]>Ayethanyaaaw!
]]>None is the project due for the next few weeks till nexty yearage as fail are the bodies due to chrimble leavage and non being aboutness.
So time and a duff work computer are my allotment and lo! downwards swoops the sleepydullness and general meh-age a trois.
fidgety kipperness infests my limbs and coffee takes on the rosey glow of a godlike companion and much boom crack kerrang is going down the tubey ear holes from ippit, my I-pod.
Pray for me children............
Eeeeeep.
Will make your brain perfectly lumpy
]]>Dear Santa
Can I have another Action Man to help complete my collection, I already have Action Man, pilot, Action Man sailor, Action Man commando, Action Man frogman, Action Man paratrooper and I'd love some more please Santa please.
love
Johnny
So Johnny stuff this up the chimney and Johnny goes to off bed
.
Christmas morning comes and Johnny runs downstairs to find a box beneath the Christmas tree, with trembling hands he rips off the paper to find an empty box,
puzzled he turns the box over to see
Action Man Deserter
]]>And the pubs are open.
The blue Cows of Pounce
Can spit by the ounce.
And have a strong liking for cheese.
The Cows of Poltroon
Sing songs out of tune
And drive people quite round the bend
The Cows of Nuk Nall
Do precisely fuck all.
And that’s where my story must end.
Sleep well blogland.
Pleasant dreams.
X
]]>avrilo (from somewhere in a can of words) x
]]>To the wonderful, AVRILO.
With all sincerity.
Your friend.
Hektor.
]]>And I'm saving the world at eight
But if he says he needs me
He says he needs me
Everything is gonna have to wait.
(Blimey is that the time)!
]]>With a hark and a harp,
They whoop in the park.
And dance to a baton called Ken.
To the tune of “Old Smokey”
They fling me in chokey
And push the one key up their bum.
So I sit and I twitch
With a Badger called Mitch
And sit quietly sucking my thumb.
Translucent goats
Capsize all the boats
A cataclysm in slow motion.
The sea lions dance
With mussels from France
And feast upon Donald's fair potion.
While otters of glee
Stipulate unto me
A charming disarming true notion.
I thought the waves on the sea were like the pleats of a skirt and that if you unfolded them the sea would cover the land.
I knew that the ghost of an old lady lived in the cupboard in my bedroom and that if you didn't want her to come out you must never cry.
By the time I was 10 I had dismissed these ideas and others like them as ridiculous. Now I am not so certain. 
Dr Who or Mr Ben?
]]>"I just can't do this anymore, Katrina. Just having you next to me is unbearable. In this confined space all I can see is you, all I can smell is you, all I can hear is you. Can't you see? You are driving me mad!"
Capt. Lockwood turned his soulful brown eyes onto the beautiful Katrina, who had draped herself seductively over the co-pilot's seat. She responded to his emotional outburst by playfully flicking her hair back over her shoulders, her lycra halterneck pilot suit glittering with thousands of sequins. She pursed her beautifully painted lips and breathed a sigh that could flatten mountains, if they were as suggestible as the lovelorn captain.
"Charles! Charles! Listen to me! You have to go on, not just for me, not just for the 108 passengers on this 707 airbus, but for little Jimmy, that kid who doesn't have a chance in hell if you don't land safely at Gatwick Airport!"
The atmosphere grew tense, like a roller-ball pen in a bowling alley.
"Oh my darling! Don't you know that I have adored you since I first saw you in the womens' changing room? When I watched you in the shower I felt something that I have never felt before!"
"What was that Charles?"
"Drips from the shower curtain. But never mind that, my beautiful co-pilot! It will take all my self control not to shout out from the wingtips of this plane that I love you! Do you hear me! I love you, Katrina Brown-Furcoat! Like no one has ever loved anybody before! My love is so big, that, well, it's like something that is very large."
As the captain spoke, he turned his handsome, sculptured head away from her, his declarations of love aimed at the altimeter on his right. He could not bear to look at her. Her volumputous gorgeousness had unnerved him to the point of bladder inconsistency.
As the loveliness that was Katrina spoke, her voice grew soft and alluring, as if she were praying to a God that had dwelt in her kitchen, watching her baking cakes in her polka-dot pinafore.
"Oh Charles! Our love can never be! If I had known that you would have fallen in love with me like this, I would have spurned you from the first time I ever saw you! That time, I will never forget, as our eyes met during the spin cycle in our local launderette. My undies in the machine next to your unmentionables, reaching out for each other!" She cried out in a torment of exclamations.
"Charles! Charles! Can you not see why we can't be together!!!!"
Charles turned his rugged, craggy features to pinpoint her mascarared eyelashes, a small frown burrowing its way along the creases in between his eyebrows, like a caterpillar coming home from a night out on the town at the local lettuce bar.
"Why? O dear God in heaven, why! I am tormented by the longing that I feel for you. My nerve endings cry out for your touch! My toes stretch and curl at the thought of you being there for me at the end of the day, a martini in one hand, my slippers in the other and a newspaper between your teeth. What a picture of domestic bliss I had envisioned for us both! My life would be as empty as this fuel gauge without you!"
As Charles turned to indicate the aforementioned gauge, his attention was drawn to the needle, which was inclined towards the red spot, indicating 'empty.'
"Katrina! Katrina! We are almost out of fuel! I had estimated that we had enough when I thought to take you on a slight detour from Rome to Gatwick via Istanbul, so I could try and win your heart. I have badly misjudged the amount left in the fuel tank. I am such a fool! Can you forgive an old retrobate for his little mistakes?"
Katrina tried to smooth out the frown lines that creased her porcelained features and employ an appropriate expression.
"Charles! Charles! We must do something to save this plane from crashing into the deep, dark, cruel sea! If we don't act promptly now, many lives will be lost. O yes, and I will miss the next episode of 'Torchwood' which I was hoping to catch when we disembarked."
There was a tense silence as both the captain and co-pilot put their respective heads in hands, in a thinkers' pose, a la Michaelangelo.
"I have it!!" Exclaimed Katrina, turning to retrieve her handbag from behind the seat.
"I know what to do, though it will be tricky."
"What, my darling! What!" Said the captain, his voice slightly muffled from being pressed against his chest, with his arms protectively wrapped around his head.
"I do have something that we can use as fuel. It may just be enough to get us to the nearest landing point, but you will have to go outside the plane and tip it into the tank. It will be dangerous, but it is our only hope." So saying, Katrina rummaged in her handbag and brought out several bottles containing a clear liquid.
"This is Stretzanetsoff, a 200% proof spirit that is a thousand times stronger than fuel, so a small amount of this would be equivalent to gallons of gas. I managed to bring back a few bottles, just for personal consumption. We will have to use it. Now, Charles! Do it now!"
"I will do it now, Katrina. Yes! I will do it now! I just need to....."
"No Charles! There is no time for you to clean your teeth!"
As Katrina wrapped her lucky headscarf around his superspy features, the captain grabbed 2 of the bottles and prepared to be a hero.
CATCH THE NEXT THRILLING EYE-CATCHING EPISODE. COMING TO THIS BLOG SHORTLY.
SNACKS AND DRINKS WILL BE SERVED IN THE FOYER DURING THIS INTERVAL.
Jasperfarians are kindly requested to, before the end of the day falling seven days after the date hereof, post, either here in the form of a comment or within their own content scope picture (hereinafter referred to as a "Personal Blog" or "Blog" or "Sonic Peninsular"), a brief account in the form of verse, a picture or good old fashioned prose on the subject of "My Personal Interpretation of The Humble Vole".
So, as we say in Jasperlande - go forth and celetrebune in solace sound like baked anon.
]]>I have returneth to fold with quince lock by a post of cold brice. Twofold pieces of cloth bold my bow'd eye under the weight of new moon and twelve mouse tide poultry became a welcome sesame seed in the uncontrolled echo of a past fortune.
I wish most kinde squirrels for you this fine afternoone.
Kind refraine.
Hektor
]]>