This weekend will be spent standing at the sea’s edge in Devon, in search of some little rays of sunshine, as daughter sprat and I take to the open road with Bing and little Span. Actually, it’s more likely that we will be spent dodging torrential rain showers and drinking a lot of coffee. Still, one can dream.
Mass excitement in the small feminine corner of Mackerel Towers, as come Monday, I will be off to collect my very own silver fish mini racer. They are rather sweetly known as Doopers, but this has nothing, I stress nothing, to do with poo. No dodgy web links, please. Not like last time I inadvertently “created” a word…
Moving swiftly on, it seems a long time since Spring came and went in March. Life looked different then. Drier, certainly, and warmer, filled with hope. Now the rain has washed it all away. Not even the hound wishes to step over the threshold into yonder garden; he must have the strongest canine bladder in the world.
Good job then that this week’s gig is a date with the witty, yet anarchic Lovely Eggs at the Port Mahon in Oxford. Look at us with our red wine smiles…
Mrs Mackerel x
Thought for the week: don’t you think that sometimes, silence is like snow?
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