I’ve been so absorbed with the workings of the left-hand side, a collapsible list would be good, and the travails involved therein, I forgot to mention a strangeness that strangely occurred the other day in a strange sort of way.
It was a fine day as fine days go and, as fine days go, it quickly went but, beginningly, sunshine was shining so a foray into the garden was planned to do a bit of tidying up. Whatever that means. What is it with women and tidying the garden? If it’s growing surely that’s a bonus. Who cares what it is? If it’s not, what’s to do?
Upon sallying forth, or George the fifth, Big Shiny immediately dived behind a big black cloud. Then, much to my surprise, it being the end of April an’ all and global warming running rampant, it hailed.
To confirm this was indeed hail and not a simultaneous multi-bird strike, I caught some in my hand. Hail it was. But this is where it gets scary and strange so if you’re a Timidadian and averse to scary strangeness, look away now.
All looking away? Okay, this is the strangeness. The hail was a kind o’ light tan colour. A frozen multi-bird strike? No. No birds above. Acid hail? No idea but, to date, I have no burn holes in my hands. Did it smell? Not that I could detect. Did it have a strange taste? Not unduly, she said.
Brown hail? Is this new? Are we doomed? You ever seen brown hail? You see where I put my blue pills?
Quote; Helen Simonson.
“He cursed himself for having assumed the weather would be sunny. Perhaps it was the result of evolution, he thought -some adaptive gene that allowed the English to go on making blithe outdoor plans in the face of almost certain rain.”
Dave Barry.
“It always rains on tents. Rainstorms will travel thousands of miles, against prevailing winds, for the opportunity to rain on a tent.”
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