Sunday, 23 June 2013

The Day that Was.

A dull day. A damp day. A dreary day. A damn cold and windy day. (So I cheated.)

It isn’t quite the same as riding along the front rank of your best and bravest cavalry, clattering your broadsword against their bristling lances in a show of martial brotherhood and crying ‘A RED DAY!’ Is it? No.

I hope this is making sense. If it isn’t, it means you haven’t seen the Battle of Pellinor Fields, and must therefore live either in Bhutan, a commune, or a particularly impenetrable part of the Brazilian rain forest, in which case your confusion is of little consequence.

It’s also been a pretty uneventful day. Does it show?

Ah, I know what happened that was interesting. I saw the person to whom I behaved ungraciously a week or so ago. Unfortunately, she was a little way ahead of me and wasn’t alone anyway, so she didn’t get the personal apology that I should have liked to bestow. Maybe I’ll see her again next year.

There, now. Wasn’t that exciting after all?

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