Life goes on….

The man with a basket of food let me go ahead of him to pay for my six pack of bagels.
‘I can’t believe I’m talking about football to a complete stranger.’ I said as I pontificated over Gareth Southgate, ‘our’ young team, the possibility of beating Croatia and – heaven forfend – football coming home.
I will, of course, be glued to the old man’s armchair at 7 o’clock tomorrow night being seduced by the opium of the people….
God forbid we lose.
I am also all Wimbledonned out. Federer, Williams, Rafa, not to mention Djokovitch, who for some reason I nearly don’t like, I’m sure he’s a delightful man
but I prefer the dignity of die Schweizer, and the ticks of the Spaniard.
Apart from my eating regime, which has changed since I watched the two parter about diabetes on ITV, life goes on pretty much as it does every summer, give or take a Russian World Cup and an unusually hot heat wave. So I’ve sacheted and souped, shaken and stirred for 23 days getting my blood pressure, blood sugar, and subcutaneous fat into a healthier zone, whilst salivating as others consume home made burgers and sensational salads, covered my ears when the crisp crunching starts, and turned my head when the food adverts appear on the box. Then I take my readings and there is evidence that reducing EVERYTHING really does work, I am able to continue until The Glorious Twelfth day of August, when I can then start shooting red grouse (Lagopus lagopus scotica), and to a lesser extent the ptarmigan (Lagopus mute).
JOKE….although on the 12th of August I may well start shooting myself in the foot if I haven’t lost at least another 10 pounds.
And then there’s the weather. I’ve sat, laid, sprawled, walked and sweltered along with the rest of the UK, scratching my bites, beating the bugs and watching the birds flap around in the bird bath. The old git has been watering the courgettes, runner beans, black currants, blueberries and herby pots, whilst the bleeding wild life have snaffled all the strawberries even though they’re covered in netting….that’s the strawberries not the critters.
So I’ll be on Radio Sussex throughout the next few weeks, whilst writing me bits, reading new books and watching lots of television.
My seasonal attire has consisted of cloth wrapped around my (r)aging body. One sarong has been confined to the bin, weathered and worn out from years of wear, one is full of holes, one doesn’t cover my modesty whilst the one from Africa needs a stitch or two. So apart from Maybots cabinet falling apart, like a freying old pullover, and Melania’s liability, fishing for her hand as he dissembles his deceitful way to Brussels, nothing has changed – except everything has and will continue to do so until we all realise that things can’t go on the way they are with a bunch of corrupt, ill-equipped, self serving egotistical so-called compassionate conservators in charge.
Whilst shouting at the News I very gently sliced off part of my thumb whilst attempting to put the blade into my food processor to shred a carrot, I did instead shred my thumb. I managed to stem the flow of blood my pressing on some kitchen roll very firmly then creating a cradle of plaster to contain the sanguinity. I am now typing with the good part of my thumb and nine perfectly healthy digits.
I’m off to the attic to write a love story about libraries. Why not it’s overdue, and wonder how any government can think about closing monuments to learning as well as denying the majority of children arts, crafts and anything that will make them think out of the box. But I josh, as millions of us slope off to food banks, whilst they laugh all the way to theirs, lets just settle down and rejoice in the democratic process (that was bequeathed to us by Cambridge Analytica), and marvel at the mesmerising chaos that is ensuing whilst 101 RAF jets provide a colourful smoke screen and Meghan’s custom made Dior frock uses up the entire music budget of East Sussex County Council., But fear not we have a new health secretary Mr Hancock, who doesn’t have Mr. Hunt’s rhyming possibility, but does contain a useful syllable which will, I’m sure be used in the weeks to come.
Here’s to the man in the waistcoat, may his humility and grace continue.

2 thoughts on “Life goes on….”

  1. Hi Jeni
    Good luck with the eating regime. I watched those programs, amazing!
    Just wanted to say thank you to you and Jim for the NHS info that this government want kept hidden.
    Enjoy the summer darling girl.
    Love June x

  2. Nice! I’ll be tuning into Radio Sussex on iplayer to hear your soothing tones! Really miss it!
    So trouble Trump is here. The fact is he does get stuff done. It’s good to see some feather ruffling for once. I’m totally against that ballon though and fuming with stupid Sadik for backing it,showing his true colours and immaturity. I personally think that our politicians can’t stick him due to jealousy that he’s a man that is actually getting things done rather than empty promises or doing nothing under the umbrella of political correctness. He’s right about trying to stop terrorist immigrants flooding our shores unchecked. He’s a breath of fresh air.
    Anyway, he’s certainly making sure here in London that we are all aware of his presence with his security helicopters flying overhead. Let’s see how the PM and darling Queen’s visits play themselves out!
    Sad about your thumb!
    Keep well.
    Lots of love,

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