Last night, on our post dinner walk, we pass the cathedral. By eight o'clock this is firmly closed and all the doors into the precinct locked . Somehow, a dozen very drunk golfers have clambered over the walls and are enjoying a boisterous private tour. The walls and railings must be at least eight feet high so getting in is no small feat. We watch as they wander round, trip over the gravestones and then try to make their way out again. Alcohol and generous waistlines make egress difficult. Two leap out like gazelles. The others are less athletic. One particularly ample gentleman from Oklahoma finds himself stuck in the gap between the top of the railings and the war memorial. We leave the scene as his colleagues attempt to pry him loose. Nothing like seven or eight pints to make a fifty year old man act like he's a twenty year old....or complicate rescue missions. Amid much hollering from him and drunken laughter from his colleagues we continue our walk.
This morning the postman delivers the latest hard e-book copies of the blog. This brings us up to the start of the family divas latest 'great adventure' two weeks ago. Yesterday, the vet called 'The Font' to say that Sophie had arrived in the surgery. This is a rather overly twee way of saying her ashes have returned. When the weather is suitably stormy and the tide flowing out to deep water we shall take her onto the shore and say au revoir.
Having seen this photo I want a martini made with glacier ice more than anything else. Why had no one told me about such things before ? I bet it tastes great :https://twitter.com/JustinElliott/status/1671473863446650882