Tuesday, 22 March 2011

A Monday in Retirement

What happened yesterday?   There was a sea-fret in the morning - making the Channel look misty and romantic and disappear for a while.  Captain B had his Metal Detector Hat on and flew off to a conference in Kent, taking a packed lunch with him.   The arthritis gave me back my limbs for a while and so I spent the morning doing some of the housework that had accumulated, and the afternoon studying and watching daytime TV.
I don't find the evening TV of much interest these days, but can always find something on during the day.  One one morning, I even found myself agonising over whether or not Thomas the Tank Engine would get the waggonload of ice-creams to the beach before all the children arrived.
To put you out of your misery - it was touch and go - but he did it!
Good old Thomas.  You can rely on him.  You can also rely on no-one getting hacked to pieces, or being raped, or both, in lingering gory close-up on Thomas the Tank Engine.
In a thread about rats and things on Facebook this morning, I got an opportunity to use this poem (verse) I wrote many years ago:

 by me

Why do I feel
No pity for the flea?
I suppose because
It preys on me
The two giant spiders
In the bath
Fill me with such panic
I have to ask
To take them out
But I do not wash them
Down the spout
I do no harm
To mice or rats
A philosophy not followed
By my cats
But fleas I kill
With sprays and no remorse
I spray the cats
As a matter of course
Fleas probably die
An awful death
Slowly choking
Robbed of breath
Do they feel?  Think?
Care?  All that?
Have they just
Achieved their cat?
A comfy home
With lots of bites?
A decent future
For their mites?
All in all
A scratchy heaven?
When suddenly
I am upon ‘em
I squirt their furry host
And the fleas’
Paradise is lost.

Its very nice its come in useful after all these years.   I am just off on the doors with Audrey, via the Tuesday morning Field Service Group at the Kingdom Hall.

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