Saturday, 20 October 2012

Like the curate's egg

That was yesterday.  Like the curate's egg: good in parts.

The Old Bat was at the MS Centre during the morning for her regular high dosage oxygen treatment which left me free to get on with things I should have done at least several days - if not several weeks - ago.  I caught up with unanswered email and generally tidied up paperwork and was contemplating cutting the grass in the afternoon if it stayed fine.  Hah!  Of course, it poured with rain just before lunch and was still raining when I took the dog out in the afternoon.  But as I couldn't cut the grass I made a start on the next issue of Jungle Jottings and played a CD the while, the most relaxing classical album in the world ... ever!  And yes, that is the title.  It's one of those compilation discs with the usual tracks such as Grieg's Morning, Pachelbel's Canon and the other regular attendees but none the less enjoyable for that.

As I was feeling flush (though I can't think why), I took the Old Bat to our local Italian for a meal in the evening.  That, too, was good in parts.  The meal itself was fine but on one side of us was a party of four in which one man had one of those carrying voices which meant we could hear every word he said without even trying.  His voice grated as well which just made matters worse.  On the other side were two couples, grandma and grandad, mum and dad, with a noisy two- or three-year-old.  It was all I could do to hear what the Old Bat was saying to me.


I mentioned yesterday that the war memorial in Pouancé is beside the church.  Seen from the south, the church towers over the town.

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