I can feel a Bog coming on. Sorry, I think I meant a Blog. But I have no idea about what.
Just too much going on around here at the moment.
However, it behoves all Bloggers to talk about utter crap sometimes. That’ll separate the men from the boys.
No, I am not a feminist and never have been. I actually believe that there are some things that a lone woman cannot do. Although two women probably can.
When I was a Wren Air Mechanic we sometimes needed to shift Air Bottles. These were very big and very heavy, but two of us could do it, so no sweat. None of us ever complained. This was the way of the world..
Wren Air Mechanics were paid exactly half of the price of Naval Air Mechanics, despite totally identical training and exam results.
But none of us cared about that. We never had to put our hands in our pockets for a drink or a meal. It wasn’t even expected. It was The Rule. Those were good days. Everyone knew where they stood.
But that wasn’t really where I was going when I first thought of doing this particular Bog, sorry, Blog.
My youngest son went off up the road this morning to help out with erecting marquees and stuff for the impending, local “Pardon”, since when I have no idea of where he is. Probably lying in a ditch somewhere, along with the rest of these public spirited persons.
I don’t actually care. I desperately needed a bit of peace. And I really don’t want him in my space all of the time.
But then I walked up the road with the ghastly Pug, Charlotte, to have a quick glimp. And not a soul in sight. And marquees flapping in the wind. I can only hope that we don’t have a gale tonight. Or is it gail? I never have quite worked out that one.
Pug Charlotte then sat down in the road and refused to walk another step. Try carrying a ten ton Pug. And No, she is not overweight.
But I had to call on my neighbour to carry the rotten little rat the rest of the way home.
So my transient neighbour and I then drank the rest of the beer. He only lives here occasionally. And the beer is all gone. But he did carry the awful Pug home for me.
Tough shit our kid. Mummy drank your beer. La la. What a thing.