A week or so ago I saw mussel farming mentioned on a cookery programme. Mussel Farming!
It upsets me deeply to think of Maurice the Mussel (or any creature) confined in a battery cage, along with row upon row of disconsolate mussels. Rounded by up by mussel-dogs, corralled, caged, and fed on goodness knows what...
Captain Butterfly, busy testing his new metal detector part across our carpet, was unmoved. "Did that farmer have a wife?" Well, yes, he did. "And was she young?" Well, no, probably in the prime of life like myself.
"Well, don't worry about the little brute then, he'll have his feet under the table in no time. Lounge lizard isn't in it!" Click click click click.
His detector began to sound like a geiger counter. We may be living above Vikings, as it seemed to be telling us that the flat below is stuffed full of hoards.
We - the team of Sue and Jean under the headship of Captain Ronald - cleaned the Hall yesterday.
He is a lovely young brother - and even said something nice and positive about my driving which made my day.
There are waves on the Channel this morning and its raining - and I am just about to go off to the Kingdom Hall Field Service group, and Audrey and I hope to get out on the door to door preaching work despite the weather. I will take her shopping first.
Captain B has agreed to a fish and chip lunch.
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