Food For Thought

Anyone for breakfast?

As you know, the Ford possessions are going through a spate of malfunctions. I am happy to report, therefore, that nothing has broken this month (except my bank balance). I spent a little over a week off work, and immersed myself in the luxury. I was fit, healthy, typing and broke; what more could a man ask?

I like the winter, as it means almost constant fires burning in various corners of our home, which give me an unaccountable and intense pleasure. Imagine my delight then, when I prized me head from it's pillow one morning and saw the unmistakeable light in the bedroom that could mean only one thing. Snow! I wrapped the kids in something warm and donned my boots and hat and we went for a trudge. It was a hurried, pre-breakfast trudge, full of excitement and glee. We walked to the river, flinging handfuls of the stuff at each other (young children are a bad influence) until the cold overwhelmed our glee. We returned home pink and freezing to sit before a hot fire, toasting currant buns and sipping mulled wine. As breakfasts go, that was one of my personal favourites.

Aside from venturing out in the snow, or nipping down to the Corner Shop for the odd bottle of breakfast, I did not leave the house. I found myself living in a little bubble of unreality in which time seemed to stand still. The bubble burst, however, when I had to go back to work and the electricity bill arrived. At least I have my memories.

On a different and wildly unconnected tangent, (which is the backstay of all baffled writers), I did enjoy Mr Lawrence's portrait of Tea Dances and the pleasure of dancing with other people's wives, or at least, entertaining the notion. Tea dances are not my cup of tea, and I only mention this to complement Mr Lawrence and insert a bad pun (which is the backstay of all baffled writers).

I am currently reading a book on the travels of a man in South America. The mobile library, which is obviously unaware of the dangers implicit in lending me a library book, has allowed me temporary possession of the volume for several weeks without query. It is an absorbing book, and one that I hope to be allowed to finish. Eventually! It has to compete, however, with snow, lunar eclipses and fatigue and several other distractions. It would possibly have been quicker for me to travel around South America than to read the book but, as the mobile library seems to be run by a civilisation which is far more advanced than ours, they seem to be content to let me read it at my leisure.

I have nothing else to relate and my breakfast is getting cold (which is the backstay of...)

Robin Ford