Tomorrow

 I am grateful 

For the chili beans 

In the crockpot 

The music 

That lets

My soul rest

Being content 

In today

Not worried 

About tomorrow 

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Milestones

Last week two milestones were reached on the very same day. The official worldwide number of COVID-19 deaths  hit two million and the number of visitors to "Yorkshire Pudding" since June 2005  reached the same figure. That's a lot of "hits".

It's as if the entire population of Perth (Western Australia) or Minsk (Belarus) have either died from the virus or they have visited my blog. I would like to think that the latter might have been  a better choice though some contrarians might disagree with that. Ah well, I know that I tried my best.

It is likely that COVID has in fact  claimed the lives of far more than two million people. Calculation in western countries is pretty comprehensive but what about more challenging, less developed countries like Malawi, Bolivia, India or Egypt? In such countries accurate tallying is far more problematic. Maybe we will never know the true death figure.

Thanks to Yorkshire Pudding visitors past and present for tarrying here from time to time. Much appreciated. Onward to three million.

Blog counter last Friday morning

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12.31

 

I try to write something everyday.

I seldom plan what goes down in print for ideas and words just seem to there, ready to be written, but I must admit with lockdown and covid and the isolation that accompanies the pandemic still in its final clutches, having something of any note to say is proving more and more difficult.

This morning is a case in point. 

I’ve shampooed the spare bedroom carpet in the east wing and have cleaned the washer afterwards. 

I’ve walked the dogs and was proud when Dorothy received praise from a regular dog walker for behaving well off her lead . 

The dog walker was one of those country type ladies who ooze brusque efficiency  

I’m working later on a late shift which is pointless and most hated one as you come into work cold and have to hit the work running.

But that’s later.

Now I’m drinking from my bucket of coffee sat at the kitchen table.

It’s cold, the kitchen that is not the coffee.

I’m irritated by the loud workmen who are constructing a small house behind the cottage. 

They have harsh local accents and play their music overly loud but luckily I cannot seem most of the new build because my buddliea bush screens things nicely. 

The new owners live on the far side of the village and own a large pack of yappy dogs.I am concerned that our peaceful days down on this part of Trelawnyd  may be numbered , but I will keep an open mind for now.

I’ve been making a list of things that need doing in between writing sentences and gulps of coffee

Albert is sat by my right shoulder , untidily eating his cat food which is placed on the window sill. The window is flecked with dried on meat and splashes of gravy 

I add clean windows to my list, just below the cancel Winnie’s insurance reminder and chase up rubber chicken picture.

I gave away some furniture yesterday.

I could have sold it , but gifting it doomed the right thing to do.

Antiques you never own, you just look after them for a while  is a favourite saying of mine. 

Hattie had my old grandmother clock  from out of the study and another friend had an old school clock and some occasional tables and a sewing box on legs. 

More de cluttering my office

And decluttering my head.

Oh lord it’s 12.31pm 

I need to leave for work by 1.15pm

And as Terry Wogan used to say on the radio when I was a boy

“ and there’s not a child in house washed “

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