For some reason the UK viewers are 5th in the Wall-watching league sandwiched between Russia and Ukraine."dobro pozhalovat" to the former."Vitajemo " to the latter.
I see there is one lone Argentinian. Maradonna perhaps or some lonely gaucho out on the Pampas...either way you are welcome. Bienvenido.
I would normally avoid the "B" subject in what is meant to be a light hearted blogpost. There is enough concern and debate and depression around; much, but not all, brought upon us by the "B" question. Try as I might not to be tempted to enter into the arena, especially with the Commons vote looming large in the next few days one thought has occurred to me-I have little brainroom for more than one- and that is why, in the last 50 years during which time we have embraced decimalisation and metrication, do we still sell eggs by the half dozen or dozen?
Whilst I appreciate that egg boxes would have to be redesigned to hold 5 eggs surely this sort of problem has been dealt with in other industries? Why have egg suppliers been allowed to live in the Dark Ages. Well if we leave then I suppose it will continue as at present. Maybe that's what Breggsit was all about in the first place, starting out as a cunning plan by chickens to keep themselves independent of their French clucking neighbours and cast off the " yoke" of bureaucracy.
The popular explanation is that back in the days before we had history books eggs were a penny each and therefor 12 eggs would cost a shilling in Christian money. Too tidy an explanation for me in that like everything else the price of an egg could go up or down as market forces and hens' arses dictated. The correlation again becomes clear in that our economic survival is being governed by headless chickens who talk out of their arses. I should have been an economist-this is soooo easy.
My mention of brainroom above leads me to a fascinating article I read in The Oldie magazine from which I will now quote a chunk.
If you'd like to read the whole article-and I recommend you do-it's here:
Now I don't know about you but I can't even remember how The Little Drummer Girl finished let alone the Bodyguard so I think I need turning off and back on again. Unfortunately rebooting isn't an option for us humans unless you believe in Reincarnation but as the late great Ken Dodd said "I don't believe in Reincarnation. Who'd want to come back as a tin of evaporated milk"?
========================================================= After a quiet New Year we took ourselves off to the New Forest for three nights in the excellent Passford House Hotel nr Lymington.
|The Passford House Hotel Welcoming Committee|
|A View of Christchurch Priory across the water|
To Buckler's Hard which has changed a lot since I was there 20+ years ago. There is now an excellent museum which most unusually Pam not only entered but enjoyed.
|Buckler's Hard where the great Sir Francis Chichester sailed on August 12th 1966 before circumnavigating the world.|
Some shots of the grounds at Passford House including a splendid Monet Garden which looks good now and will look wonderful come Springtime
|Not sure what Concord had to do with Monet...|
|An unfortunate piece of labeling|
Now the birthday approaches. Next Sunday. Not a significant birthday though at my age every birthday is significant. Trying a new venue this year, The Golden Eagle at Ashley Green which has been taken by the Tenant of the George and Dragon, Northchurch and his chef, Tim has moved up there so live in hopes. 18 of us going at present so should be jolly. I'll let you know next time.
Popped in to see Mike P on Tuesday-he's well thank you-though a bit low on visitors. Anyway my reason for publishing this picture is that it is a selfie (still sounds distasteful to me but not as distasteful as a selfie stick!) BUT when I took it I was sitting on Mike's right. So I took this tasteful self portrait complete with New Orleans woolly hat and same thing happened-I was actually holding my left hand in Corbynistic pose.
Explain please. It's beyond me.
Until the next time dear friends