It was a dull, dreary, cold and windy February Sunday yesterday, and I was in no mood for waxing lyrical that morning, so I set about my daily tasks of answering emails, updating various websites I control, and sorting through my image files for something to inspire me to write about. This usually cures my writer’s block. However yesterday I could get no inspiration at all, so by lunchtime I was thoroughly depressed, and waiting for the world to wake up the other side of the Atlantic, so I could have a Facebook “chat” with my daughter.
I was late leaving work on Friday evening, and my car was all steamed up on that murky November night. I know I should have started the engine and let it run to clear all my windows before leaving, but I was bursting for a wee, and wanted to get home quickly, so I just mopped the mist from a big circle in the front windscreen, before I set off into the fog. Why my demisters chose not to function properly that night, I have no idea. All I know is that I couldn’t see a thing properly. I turned down the car radio. I always think that if you can’t hear, you won’t be able to see properly either. That’s probably a ridiculous conclusion to draw, but that’s how it seems to me.
In her madness, mild-mannered Martha mistakenly mixed mustard into the miniature meatballs made for the meal at the Mad March meeting of Manchester Masons. Meanwhile, Continue reading