Thank you and thank you again and you can all have big squashy hugs...perhaps when I can breathe again you can have the hugs 'cos I'm still very germy...because Himself read the plaintive blog about the leaking kitchen roof and all your replies and he's said you are all right actually to be concerned and we can get someone to fix it!
Don't know who though 'cos although John next door is a roofer he isn't a terribly good roofer...even his Mum says so and she loves him to bits...
There's always Mick who is about five foot tall with flaming red hair in dreads and a very long beard he wears in plaits...he's supposed to be a roofer. Then there's the Loon who acquired his nick name after reroofing the Cathedral in town while running back and forth across the very steep pitched roof carrying armfuls of slates, sans safety harness.
But they are just the ones I know...there might be some others who aren't drop dead handsome...that's John...look precisely like a Leprechaun...Mick...or have a death wish...the Loon.
I've been following the exploits of that deluded bloke Dennis Rodman and his trip to see his bestest friend and play basketball with brain washed North Koreans...there's a short video on the news of him singing happy birthday to the dear leader which is toe-curling...made me feel slightly queasy actually.
Of all the comments I've read about the dear leader recently, the one which appealed to me the most was short and to the point...'That man has a face I really want to smack'
I had a quick skim over an article about Edward brain is only on about 10% of its usual power so I didn't read the long words...he was considered to be effeminate, as were the men closest to him in Court, which didn't go down too well with the Church or the other Royals jostling for power, so to hammer home the point, every portrait painted of him had his beard removed...beards in those days being the mark of a proper sort of a bloke as well as one's prowess in battle of course. He was, by all accounts, murdered in an extremely unpleasant way by having a red hot 'poker' inserted into his anus which destroyed his innards. So the damage inflicted wasn't visible from the outside, those responsible used a funnel to channel the poker through...
Chaucer wrote about his demise as did many others...though I wouldn't pay much heed to Chaucer personally...nasty man with a mind like a sewer. I met an American student who was reading Mediaeval literature...he was on one of those 'digs' that go on here in the summer...he just loved Chaucer and quoted great lumps of prose at me while I was trying to look at his collection of 'shot'...those small perfectly round balls used in early guns. When it dawned on me that I'd also had a collection pretty much the same as his and thought them to be stones and had just thrown them back on the garden, I sidled away...and went to look at the antler tools instead.
Haven't done much another thriller on my Kindle and drank umpteen cups of tea...and I know it ought to be water but I don't like water much and actually I'm not overly keen on tea but I drink gallons when I don't feel up to much.
It has been lovely weather-wise...sunshine all day though there'll be a frost tonight 'cos it's chilly with clear skies. I was sitting up last night looking at the sky through the sitting room window...watching as satellites sailed overhead and Paddy went past on his was about three in the morning...heavens what he'd been doing to be out so late. It's awful quiet here at night...sometimes I hear a dog barking far away...sometimes there's a high pitched squeal when some small animal is caught for a bigger animals supper...but mostly it's quiet. Just vague shadows and shapes in the midnight hours...