Today I travelled to Cherhill Down for a most exhilarating New Year’s Day walk on something that seemed a lot more up than down, despite its name. I had been planning on going on a much longer walk with some ramblin’ folk I know but it was a long way to drive to the start point, and I didn’t get out of bed all that early, and the weather forecast suggested not getting out of bed at all might be a good idea and I couldn’t be arsed exchanging Happy New Years with people who I probably won’t talk to again this year.
Any road (or public footpath) the walk was solitary, wet and muddy and I had a bit of a problem with an electric fence which had been put somewhere where it shouldn’t have been (ooh err). So towards the end of my stroll I felt a bit damp, glum and knackered but I was glad that I had made the effort. Better than sitting at home picking my nose and festering, and from this point onwards every little exercise is a step further towards reaching my tip top fitness level needed to get me up those pesky Andes in May.
So I came home and fell asleep on the settee while I roasted four birds (and a pig, don't forget) at the same time in the oven. Who says men can’t multi-task? The birds turned out to be a budgie, a condor, a dodo and Lisa from Steps.
It’s early days but I’m quite enjoying having a blog to write. Usually at this stage of a new year I have wasted a fiver on a diary that seemed like a good idea until it came to taking the top off my pen. A blog is exactly the same as a diary but a lot different. I’m not sure yet if anyone has read any of this. I am lead to believe that my site has so far had ninety eight visitors but I strongly suspect that they have all been me.
Diaries are often kept secret but I can’t see the point of writing something that no one is ever going to read. I wouldn’t want everyone to read this blog though because I’m sure I’ll eventually get round to writing something very rude about someone I don’t like, which may cause embarrassment to both parties. Margaret Thatcher is a callous, cold hearted, old bitch but it doesn’t really matter because she probably doesn’t have internet access to enable her to read this in her care home for the elderly. And even if she has, she’s probably the one exception where I would like her to know I’ve been rude about her. But I can be much ruder than that. As her old mate Ronnie Raygun would say, “You ain’t seen nothing yet!” So there you go . . . my first bit of nastiness for the new year.
I wonder who does Margaret Thatcher's feet.
Happy thought for the day: I’m going to Berlin in sixty six days time.