Craic On

Setting aside the demise of the blown fuse, and the kettle, before 6am. I’ve been to have my surgically induced fluid bubbles drained. I’ve been waiting for this moment since the last time I went out of the house in a state of heightened emotion and came home minus a vat of “lovely and clear” lymphatic fluid. This morning’s trip out also served as yet another training opportunity for someone who needs to get their numbers up. I am happy to oblige. Today’s student offered up an abundance of “bless you” and brief felicitations on the quality of my output. The electrician text me to say that he was an hour away. There was time enough for a trot to that well known emporium where end of lines can be precured at bargain prices. Kettles were not amongst them. This didn’t stop me from joining the till queue with a small tin of Spanish sweet chili. When it was my turn, I put my cane down on the counter next to me and pushed the chili under the Perspex screen where it was carefully examined, it’s contents read, it’s