dodman

Naysaying anti Huttonist speaks

I too find the new blogging system rather stressful and wholly uncalled for at a time when right minded members of the populace ought to be speaking out against the tendancy of those in positions of power to instigate change for the sake of change and then, when people complain, wheel in tired old phonies to support their cause.

Bah. Humbug, I say.

decoy

blogger

Tan: “I can’t seem to work that foul version of the blogger!”

Gakfroth unholy! The blogging system is simplicity itself! one types in the box then presses ‘Publish’!

dodman

A poke in the eye with a sharp stick

I was digging up Mama’s bottlebrush bush to replant it somewhere else in the garden. It had an insanely deep root system and as I was vigorously hacking downwards with my trusty spade, my upper body following on behind, I rammed my right eyeball onto a freshly pruned, crisp, sharp grape vine stem. From there on, the day deteriorated rather, as my vision became blurry in the extreme.

Playing tennis with Peter two hours later, I flailed wildly at what seemed to be two balls coming over the net towards me. I couldn’t focus my right eye at all. I lost the first set very quickly. It was horribly windy, which made things even harder. Good shots were sailing out; crappy shots were unlikely winners. Then it struck me that I needed to use the wind to my advantage. Basically, when the wind was behind me, I had to hit half cock shots, that only just stayed in, and forget about hard serves and lobs, since they usually went out. With the wind against me, the opposite strategy was called for: many lobs, wildly hard serves, vicious forehand thwacks; all went in.

At that point, 2/2 in the second set, Mama passed by and distracted our attention. To press home the advantage of having a ‘plan’, and to gain a breather after a tight bit of cross court running, I employed the well known tactic of retying my shoe laces. From then on, it was plain sailing for me, and Peter crashed out in dismal style. Back to the drawing board, he said!

In fact, he played better than I did. The wind won it for me, ruining his good shots and flattering my bad ones. Still, a win’s a win; and the pleasure of winning seemed to have a beneficial effect on the injured eye.

decoy decoy solid

like a wet sock on a washing line.

hello.
i havent blogged in a while as nothing much of interest has happened to me. apart that is from yesterday when i was nearly cut in half by a smegging wire.

moral of the story: make damn sure that there are no lethel bits of wire strung across a seemingly inocent gap in a section of fencing before leaping across at top speed.

obvious you may think, but it was invisible i say!

nothing broken as far as i know…

jul