I thought the above was a neat title for my ramblings on a Sunday morning which I would like to turn into a ..... there it is again, old age, I know the word I want, I can think of alternatives in my head, but the actual word eludes me, excuse me while I concentrate. Regular! A regular spot.
Anyway, it is cold and grey, just like most of the last few Sundays, I can see the first ridge in the distance but not the one with the ugly windmills on it, one of the houses across the road is up for sale, and I can just make out Steve the Policeman's red car which had its front crushed by a passing caravan a few days back.
I got a letter from Her Maj's Revenue & Customs yesterday, warning me to have all my T's crossed and I's dotted as far as my financial matters were concerned, or they would bring down a plague on my house, confiscate everything I owned and throw me on the moors. Which frankly astounds me, as the 'Mafia's Bank', sorry, "World's Bank" HSBC, has been helping rich people dodge tax now for decades and hasn't even had a slap on the wrist so far. And to make me feel even worse there is the case of multi-millionaire Paul Bloomfield who hasn't paid a penny in tax in 24 years! But they send me letters and turn up at my door and demand paperwork going back seven years, and hell mend me if I don't have those receipts.
We were out for dinner at a friends house last night, pleasant company, good food and nice wine. My wife leaves today for a few days in the Lakes and I will be playing Dead Man's Hand this afternoon. As there are three of us the usual way the game plays will not work, so I have come up with a couple of scenarios inspired by the movie "Unforgiven". A full report later tonight I suspect as I am home alone.