Having Nothing to Say.

I find it disconcerting when, for no apparent reason, I have nothing to say to the blog. Saying things is what I do; saying things is about all I’m good for these days.

I tried to make a post which included the line ‘… and it being fair dinkum to congratulate the Aussie Sheilas on the quality of their tucker probably went out shortly after the guns at Gallipoli fell silent.’ It isn’t a bad line, and it even made sense in context, but the context was the problem. It was rubbish, so I scrapped the whole post.

I suppose I could mention that I’ve had a visit today from a place in Alaska called Southerly North Slope Bo, and another from a place in Chile called Libertador General Bernardo O’Higgins, but what else would there be to say on the matter?

I think it’s time I went and finished off the dregs in the last special offer bottle of Grant’s. See, that’s another question I put to the Girl on the Drinks Aisle:

‘Are the litre bottles of Grant’s still on special offer?’

‘No; it finished last night.’

‘But the shelf sticker still says £17.’

‘Oh, yes. Sorry.’

And then she removed the erroneous shelf sticker.

Now, if I’d said nothing and gone to the checkout bearing a litre bottle of Grant’s, and then used the ‘but the shelf sticker says £17’ line when it came up on the display as £22, they would have let me have it five pounds cheaper. I’m just too honest for my own good.

And on the subject of life being a hard mistress, I washed the car this morning for the first time in ages, and then learned that there’s rain forecast for the next five days. It isn’t fair, you know; it isn’t.