I have a pair of walking boots which I use maybe half a dozen times each year. I get more use from the boots whilst looking for them than I ever do from walking about in them. I spent an hour trying to find the things this morning. They eventually turned up where I left them last time.
“My Boy TM ” then emerged from his pit and gave me half a bag of chocolate éclairs. Not because it’s Easter, but because he’s lost a filling to one of them, and didn’t want the rest. But I’m not proud, and I set about scoffing the things. Apparently his plan to become self-sufficient in vegetables is well under way. He’s dug over his friend’s garden, and is wondering what to plant. I’ve suggested it’s less effort to go to Tescos to buy vegetables, especially seeing how he don’t eat his veg anyway. But what do I know…
And so to Smarden where fifteen of us met up at the farm, and walked into the village to join with the crowds massing at the Flying Horse. We bought our quacking duck beaks and then (following a crafty pint) made our way to the river to await the start of the duck race. Eight hundred plastic ducks were chucked into the river, and the first one to reach the village bridge would be the winner. Whilst my duck wasn’t actually the last to finish, it was in last place at one point, and certainly was in the last half-dozen. Pausing only briefly to demand a re-race, we popped back to the pub for a medicinal half to calm our nerves, then made our way back to the farm for a barby.
Food scoffed, we then wandered round the lakes, and took a moral stance with some real live ducks that were getting over-amorous.
And then I wasted an hour trying to get photographs of the day onto Facebook. Sometimes the photo uploader just doesn’t want to work. And then we sat down to catch up on “Flash Forward”. We were three episodes behind – we watched the lot and I stayed awake too….