The traditional Sunday evening worship had been brought forward and extended by an early call from my Godson’s parents to meet to discuss the Chosen One’s pending start at “Big School”.
Naturally, they were keen to retain my chauffeur services and also alert me to the change of route for the next seven years. I sense they still lack complete belief in their choice, made maybe after far too many beers, many years ago.
On a personal note the new school has an array of eateries close by and I am happy with the choice without reference to Ofsted. I can see me getting well acquainted with the Turkish bistro as I await his release from captivity.
As my stay was somewhat longer than usual at The Scruffy, I was surprised to wake up clear-headed to the sounds of singing birds and the farting Australian, soon to be repatriated.
There was work to do as the veg plot offered up it’s last produce of this wet summer. The previous night Our Jackie had left clutching my finest cherries proclaiming “I’ll be sucking on your cherries all night Stephen!”
I swear my butt cheeks clenched involuntarily.
As well as the garden there was the issue of my current Changing Rooms project as the hounds of winter approach. The Convict and I were moving furniture and getting in touch with our feminine sides.
If I had known all I had to do to keep him out of the living room was to sprinkle a few candles around I would have bought an altar full.
The reason for all this is my desire to bring to life the fire in what was the dining room, now renamed The Snug. This is perhaps not a well thought out move given the local fire station is shutting soon.
Chris from next door advised I needed a smoke bomb to test the blow capacity, so I introduced myself to the aptly named Ash, owner of the local DIY shop.
Spotting a man who he could rely on to fleece for the next few decades, he sent me on my way with two smoke bombs and a cheery wave, thanking Allah that Wickes had decided to shut his one and only source of competition.
Incredibly I lit the bomb without scarring myself and dashed outside excitedly, awaiting smoke from the tower. Alas, there was nothing but when I went back to check with the Convict, he was stood choking, masked in smoke and barely visible.
The route of the problem – my idiocy discounted – was a pillow I must have stuck up the flue years ago to prevent down-draughts. I pulled this out and luckily an avalanche of soot failed to follow; we tried again.
This time smoke poured from the magnificently erect chimney, stood there proudly almost a full century, now blowing again with all her might.
This called for a celebration and so I set off to our new Aldi keen to provide the Convict with a reward rather than his usual hard cheese and tack rations.
Driving to the new retail park I noticed the streets were deserted; had my smoke bomb forced people off the streets worried ISIS had discovered Idle?
Even the doors to The Scruffy were firmly closed; was the end of the world really nigh?
Soon it became clear the whole village had decided that a Bank Holiday Monday treat would be a day out at Aldi & Home Bargains. Live fast, die young so they say.
The newly revamped carpark – with lanes just about wide enough to skateboard on – were a mish-mash of angry drivers with horns blowing like the centre of Rome. I predict a riot thought I.
Once inside there were masses of shell-shocked men. Having taken thirty years to get used to the wife’s preferred route and stopping points around Morrisons, here they were surrounded by all this fancy Germanic stuff and no idea which way to take the trolley next.
It was a divorce lawyer’s Heaven.
Decked out in their bank holiday best tracksuits, they trudged behind wives not having as much fun since they last read Fifty Shades. I studied them from afar – the DIY aisle – and pondered what would become of them.
It was then I noticed that I had ventured out with my polo shirt inside out and wearing stained shorts; truly I was losing it amongst my own people.
I said a small thank you that the shorts had no zip and decided to exit with head bowed, free bag for life over my head.
Just why the village needs yet another supermarket and bog-standard discounter is beyond me, given the desire to rip up green fields to plant boxes on which few locally can afford?
On a brighter note at last we have a decent coffee house in the village occupying the old library building. We may still have enough fast “food” joints to ensure the local Slimming World club continues to expand (sorry!) but this is a little gem.
Finally, whilst I am banging on about localism, my current read is Naomi Klein’s latest weighty tome This Changes Everything.
Whatever your politics this is a must-read if you have any concern about the future of the planet. Slowly but surely, as evidenced by an overwhelming consensus of scientific opinion, we are destroying our future.
On that cheery note, have a great weekend.
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