For the past seventeen years I have made do with a broom and bleach but I thought perhaps it was time to buy one of those power shower things. I have since been told it is called a pressure cleaner, one of those things that cleans the terrace, or patio in British English. ( Or is it the other way?) Anyway. It has only taken about a month to get various bits of hose to fit the shedload of taps we have in this house. I was quite looking forward to finally trying it out and getting things done around here for once but you can guess what has happened. Mr van de Ven has commandeered said item, sealed the perimeter, pulled up the mainframe,  and is out there now cleaning everything in his path, the terrace, small children, the garage roof, the anti social neighbours next door. I will give it five minutes to see if he heads up the road cleaning the street and the bits the council missed. 

I think it was someone like Billy Connolly who said you wouldn't have a drink with most, if any, politicians but imagine if you did with Dominic Raab. After his third pint he would start smelling of steroids. Then at some point in the conversation he would stop, look slightly perturbed and ask you 'you mean, that time I went to New York the plane actually flew over water?'

APOCRYPHAL

The following is apocryphal, you know, unsupported, so don't get upset.....You are probably thinking he is the best of a bad bunch but that isn't difficult is it? You know, who should take control of it all. What is it with Rory S? There's something urbane about him, something familiar, like you feel you have met him before. And then you do meet him. In a pub. Your friend introduces you. 'This is Rory'. You hit it off, you drink beers and have great conversations and then it gets late and he suggests something else. To keep the party going. It might be opium, perhaps heroin, it will never be cocaine or it might be an orgy of sorts. Something that makes you feel like you are selling your soul and all your suspicions are confirmed when you wake up naked in a skip the next day and overhear him on the blower saying something on the lines of, 'well do it Giles, whatever it takes, just do it'.

I am so lazy I couldn't be bothered to have a siesta today!

Am I the only one reading this as I sit and contemplate the dying light in the west.

If you come and visit us, be prepared. Once your are settled on the bus going back to wherever home is, you will look out the window as we cheerily wave you bye bye, and you will turn to your companion and say, 'you know what? I think I am a bit drunk'.

That horrible moment when you realise you are talking to a Vox supporter, the far right goon squad in Spain. I always take them to task by mentioning the fact that I am an immigrant and they always respond by saying 'oh, but we don't mean you...' and then they tend to shut up when they realise how that sounds, especially when they have already declared that they are not racist. The other day I found myself in this situation and did the old 'but I am an immigrant' number on him and the bullish bastard said 'have you got your papers in order?' and I replied, 'yes, of course' but not without a tremor of fear at his words and the way he delivered them, with a chilling, imperious air and a conclusion that told me, 'Well, you have nothing to worry about then have you?'