Nine Feet Underground

We're going away on holiday in July to somewhere which is expected to be very hot.  The Johnny Cash look will probably not cut it.  Certainly not my favourite black T-shirts. Consequently, I've been looking for some cooler clothes, in all senses of the word, naturellement.  As part of this process, I made a horrifying discovery. Either a lot of my clothes, especially shorts and shirts, have shrunk or, as it more likely seems, I have put on a fair bit of weight. Where have I put it on? Mostly around my middle, which we're told, is the worst place to gain weight for the more mature (in some ways) adult. This discovery has led to two remedial (I should be so lucky!) actions. I need to exercise more (well, at all would be more like the truth of late). I must cut out sugar from my diet. No more M6 Snickers.  I am debating the future of the almond croissant (and even better, the chocolate and almond croissant). Not for the whole world, so no need to worry, just for me. I u...

The last time I wrote here, April was disappearing into the sunset. Given the amount of cloud and rain during the month, that was more metaphorical than literal. Ho, hum, pig's bum! It may or not be the case.  Scrub that: it May be, is. What's the craic, I 'hear' you ask? It's a game of two halves, to be 'honest'. Allegedly, I am a 'parrot', sleep-wise, though not as sick as one. Over to you, Barry. It's alright, I'm just messin'. I am toying with the idea of attempting to write entirely in clichés, but mixing them up and playing with them for the linguistic fun of it. I could try to do that, but it would take a while and I have other things I want to say today.  So, it's time to get down to business.  Nose to the grindstone. Shoulder to the wheel. Pull my socks up. This post is not going to write itself. Sadly, for all concerned, E's health seems to have plateaued again. I'm not sure who this benefits, not her nor our sons wh...