Feel a bit lost today, bereft of ideas and anything to say, we all have those I guess. So for maximum impact I’ve cobbled together 4 of the finest  and we’ll see what comes of it, but i’m erring on the side of me being cross about something. So welcome me to Fandango’s One Word Challenge, Ragtag’s Daily Prompt and Word of the Day Challenge, with a liberal sprinkling of B&W Tuesday, which incidentally is all that remains of our farm shop after a couple of gas canisters  exploded a few weeks ago, like a nightingale hospital the Ombersley farm Shop has been built in super quick time, literally risen from the ashes, and the cheeky gang of misfits and strays who run the place live to fight another day. 

Well the Year Zero thing I was writing concerning the pubs being shut and thus no where for me to go to of an afternoon after finishing work early for a swifty on the way home, has all fallen a bit at the final fence. This weekend just gone, day 108 if you were counting, saw the reopening of the pubs, but only from 6am, we don’t want people getting out of control!

By all accounts the Witherspoons in Worcester had queues at the doors, the be-Track-suited Fosters drinkers desperate to sit in a comfy chair not saturated with their own piss which they had been inhabiting for the last 12 weeks, the first taste of the “Amber Nectar” reminding them of how sweet life in a Witherspoons pub actually is, as the rest of the rabble get down to the business of getting as drunk as possible as quickly as possible so they can start telling the recycled Jim Davidson or Roy Chubby Brown jokes they’ve been saving up over the lockdown. Ready to bore everyone to tears with the toothless guffawing as the spittle lands on the table, the chairs and peoples hands, sanitiser a distant memory now as the amber gold courses through their narrow veins. There were scenes of crowds over the weekend, gathering outside pubs and bars, I don’t know what to expect really, alcohol is going to lubricate the tongues and there’s people who have been stuck at home checking out the adult channel, as bored botox busty blondes beckon them to come on a journey with them, to paradise; Xanadu. maybe the birth rate will see a spike in 9 months, maybe not.

After the pub, off to the Curry house for a Ruby, maybe they’ll treat themselves to a Phall, gobble it up and then in the morning remember when they’re sat sweating in the smallest room, screaming through gritted teeth, hot curries do that to you when you’re  ageing, as we all are.

Me, I haven’t been to the pub yet, i’m not really bothered, the weather’s been shit, its raining now and i’d much rather sit outside that with a bunch of people I’ve not realised that I haven’t thought about for 4 months. We’ve a friend coming down this weekend, maybe we’ll treat ourselves then.