Happy New Year.

Long overdue, I’ve returned not that anyone missed me, too much booze, far too many roast dinners over Christmas; the most complicated of national dishes, and Two too many old people. I more than likely mentioned this last year around the same time, but as i’ve no index and no way to search through the Ministry archives, then I, or you, will have to read the whole thing all over and take notes, reporting back to me as to if I mentioned this before, I should imagine I did.

In exciting news that I am happy to report but pleased to put behind me is that I got stuck in an automated car wash a few weeks before Christmas, got told off by one of the operatives and drove off shamefaced, not sure what I did to come off the rails specifically but its enough to make me look for a different car wash in the future, I had to beep my horn as all around me shut down and the buffers hung limp and unagitated on the spools as the water decreased to a dripping onto my roof. They had to come in and rescue/ escort me to safety, which coincidentally was the same way I would leave the car wash anyway. New year’s resoloution is to avoid getting stuck in car washes, but I’m pleased it happened; one for the bucket list.

I’ve finally admitted that I have to buy large t-shirts now, and to be honest, it offers far less chaffing in the underarm region and has made my life slightly better in that department. And ive gone up a jean size to 34″ but in reality I’m 33″ and have to wear a belt which I have an allergy with the metal buckle. I can either switch to using a piece of cord or wear a sarong, which is my favoured option but doesn’t comply to Health and Safety regulations employed on British Building Sites, sadly. So the age old problem of how to lose weight, and can I really be bothered to, and why do my scales not hold the charge in a AAA battery for longer than about a week all leads me to believe that this is just the natural state of things, the ebb and flow of middle age, the sidewards progression of natural progression, the stalling of this particular evolution.

This year hopefully will mark the year of the Mother moving over to my village and I suppose making her the Mother of the Count of North Clifton, the Arch Countess maybe? I’ll look that up sometime, but she’s settled on a rather picturesque little dormer Bungalow opposite the Church if we can sell her property in Leicestershire which is, I’ll be honest, falling apart around her. The Baroness of Bruntingthorpe, as I guess she could be called, is in need of some more favourable living arrangements, so we’ll see what gives.

This year, wether you care or not, oh reader, I will be putting more of this gumpf out and might try to speak to a WordPress Bott about how I can make my site a little more user friendly as it reads like a long discordant narrative with no particular narrative aside from possibly the deconstruction of a once younger man. 

Love to the family.