Wall to wall sunshine, soaring temperatures well into the 70s and sing of any respite for at least four days. So I’m off to Scotland where they still have proper British weather, single digit temps, total cloud cover shielding me from that nasty sun and that particular type of incessant rain that eludes expensive waterproofs and soaks you down to the molecular level.
Although, as the big four-o is less than two weeks drinking away, maybe I’ll hide myself away in a contented beery fug, warmed by a nice fire and fully in control of my new slippers. The option is to be totally out of control, sliding down a rocky hillside (sorry landslide) marking my headlong plunge as small, but important, body parts are cleaved off by spiteful, pointy geography. Now which one sounds more fun?
Or maybe a bit of both. Us wise old men understand the meaning of everything in moderation. Except writing for this blog of course and to save you from doing any work whatsoever, I’ve teed up a couple of ‘hog sized morsels for later in the week. One has a yak it it, the other a nice picture. I wouldn’t go as far as saying they are worth waiting for but if you’ve an understanding boss and terrifically low boredom threshold, you know where to come.
Before I go and pack (translation: cram everything waterproof into a bag and forget to add any strides), I’ve a favour to ask. A half written article is summarising stuff I wish I’d done before I was 40 and stuff I’m bloody glad to have got out of the way. Anything you can add which I’ll cheerfully plagiarise would be much appreciated.
Think of it as work if anybody asks.