Whoo-Whoo

I determined today to avoid the subject of politics, but as I sit down to pen these notes I find that Radio Scotland, of all people, are airing a documentary invloving relationships between my MP, my local authority and its planning process and councillors (of which the said MP was one until but recently), and a local developer.  The relationships must be aired, but why oh why were they suppressed in the run up to last year’s general election?  All that has happened inthe meantime is a planning debate involving supermarkets, you know those bodies that Labour do not want to enhance profits of in the opposition to minimum unit pricing, and do want to increase the profits of in their opposition to rates levies.  Anyway let’s leave politics aside for now.

The Grasshopper has had a good run this morning, the middle loop today, mainly in sunshine after the early mist burned off.  Glorious it was too, with only two dog walkers, and their three charges, out and about.  I too had walkies on a couple of occasions, the hills seeming too arduous not for my legs but for the all important heart muscle.  I took a break to slow it down, concerned that it may relate to the underlying chest virus as I panted and gasped in lungfuls of cool fresh air.  That said it is over a week, well over it in fact, since I had to resort to the inhaler.  A good outing, and a warm afterglow.

For now the bread is, hopefully, rising on the Rayburn.  I’ve a few concerns regarding the wiring in the kitchen having picked up a couple of shocks loading the washing machine, and also on the Rayburn.  The Genealogist had reported a similar charge, but from the toaster.  May need to get a man in.  The underlying problem could relate to a dodgy switch on the under-cupboard lights, or the oil tank connector which has begun to flash sparodically.

Some gloom yesterday on the sports front, as The ‘Lok went down at home to The ‘Nock, with a performance which warrants neither debate nor understanding.  Then later, Les Bleus played as if the Auld Alliance remained strong, masquerading as they did as the Scottish rugby team in succumbing to defeat at Twickers with a performance ruined by mistakes and bad breaks, and perhaps some dodgy decisions from the refereee.  Meanwhile the Glee Club of Inverdale and Moore goes on apace, the Grand Slam decider not out of the way.  I am reminded of the last time they had only to turn up in Dublin for the final game to be awarded the trophy, only to be duly rewarded with a thumping.  Here’s hoping.  Perhaps a strong Irish performance at Murrayfield today will give them some confidence, even if it gives me divided loyalties.  From where in the emerald isle did this McEvoys of mine hail?  Another quest to get moving.  Must speak to The Genealogist.  Meantime on sports let’s see how the Indian batsmen are getting on.

For this afternoon I may eschew the angst of watching the latest performance from our professional rugby players.  The Urchins have yet to be introduced to the delights of model railways, and the annual exhibition closes today at the SECC.  Might be fun , could be expensive in the long run.  Whoo-whoo.  Chores first though, with bread to get through the oven, lunch to think about, and a certain bike needing some tlc, and lubrication.

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