June 13th 2019

Its my wedding anniversary, and my wife’s coincidentally today, so luckily we get to celebrate it together. Vases, and shot measuring devices, plus about or exactly 3 more gifts will be appearing over the next few days to jointly celebrate this wonderful day and fathers day, which follows on Sunday. For me however, because my daughter is living it up in Germany, Father’s Day will have to take a rain check until she gets back and we’ll all go out somewhere nice.

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The fucking rain continues to fall, the woods are liking like a rain forest, Benny still isn’t allowed out for walks with his mates due to the castration convalescence. I’m not going to lie to you, its the blues right now, this is meant to be summer, the longest day is only a week away and we’re hunkering down, the log burner has been lit for the past 4 nights, the ash mountain in the log store is being gradually chipped away and we will be forced to camp. The air pump in the Biodigester packed in and had we not replaced it, shit and washing powder would be flowing through the waterways of Worcestershire, like they did in the 1500’s and later, and earlier too.

Today I bought a pack of BBQ space raiders, because there were no pickled onion, and a copy of the “I” on my way to Malvern and would you believe it I couldn’t find the paper about 5 minutes after I’d bought it. I’d only been in the car but was on my way so thought I’d return on my return and speak to the shopkeeper later as we’d spoke at length about the Australia/ Pakistan cricket match and how unlucky Pakistan were. I thought he’d remember me, he didn’t, it wasn’t the usual bloke, but i’m sure he must have remembered me, not much happens in our local shop on a daily basis, i’m sure when I worked in Victoria Wine in Salfird I remembered everyone who came into the shop on a daily basis. I blame the phones, they make vacant people even more fucking vacant. It’s like vacuous conversations don’t seem to matter anymore, which quite obviously they do.

Save the Vaccuums, Save the futile conversations, Save the benign passing of pleasantries, because, you know what, one day, probably quite a bit if you talk enough shit as I do, you will hear something and it’ll stick. Therein lies the path to a brain full of a jumble sale of information so as you can strike a conversation with anyone and not scare them away.

Heres a song about Rain, first Gig I ever went to; the Cult at Leicester De-Montfort Hall 1986 possibly. Electric Tour I think, we got checked to see if we were carrying chains or other implements of destruction.

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