Being nearly June, I’m surprised to still be lighting the fire at the end of each day. As the nights are still cold I find that we are continuing the winter ritual of watching television, in the warm glow of the fire, whereas I would be expecting to be enjoying long evenings in the garden. It seems the programmers have the same view or why else would they be offering such a paucity of worthwhile shows to watch. Because of this seasonal aberration I’ve been finding out about stuff that I didn’t need to know. Hotels that offer accommodation at £15,ooo per night, a boxer (worth $200 ooo,ooo) being offered an amnesty on a prison sentence for assaulting his wife because he’s worth more to Las Vegas free and fighting, the editor in chief of a well known glossy magazine demanding that hotels, worldwide, are aware her slightest whims, with regard to her arrogant self importance, in advance, to save her those two or three extra minutes at the reception desk on arrival, the fact that a self satisfied lump has sold himself and his chums as a multi million dollar brand does not make me want to Kiss and Makeup: it makes me want to take a piss and throw up. Time for a walk in the country As I walked up the lane I fell into step with Marie-Therese, the wife of one of our neighbours, who was heading up the hill to fetch a tractor back to the farm. Her husband, Patrick, was spreading shit on the fields and I couldn’t help thinking that I knew of far better places for it.
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