Tissues, whisky and Headstrong Cats

Aaargh, I’m coming down with a cold. I can feel it in my limbs and there’s an achy stiffness in my neck and shoulders. My eyebrows feel like they are slowly descending like security shutters. I’m going to curl up with a nice glass of whisky and a book, turn the ‘phone off and head to bed early.

Not Cat is gambolling around the garden. With the Loc8tor working this morning, I found him quickly enough, and i may be wrong about him finding a place in someone’s house. He was quite friendly, but not daft. He knew full well I wanted him to come inside, so he made sure to stay just out of reach; on top of the wall; in the strawberry tree; and when he did come down he went under a car. Continue reading

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The Anticipated Burns

Poetry Group tonight, and a special session anticipating Burns night.

I can now truthfully claim to have drunk whisky in the library. But not to be drunk on whisky. My dry period from pre-‘flu to now is over.

David, a poet and our convenor, who works as a library assistant, had engaged the services of other staff who appeared ceremoniously with a meat haggis and a vegetarian one. We had our plastic glasses charged with Old Grouse, which make s a change from the usual apple juice. David had already read the Selkirk Grace, now he launched into Address to a Haggis and stabbed both of them (with different knives, obviously).

We also had oat cakes, trifle – that most Scottish of puddings – and shortbread. Continue reading