I'm afraid I will bore you, because I have nothing to say. I'll say it at length of course, because that is what a mistress of small talk does, but it'll be as satisfying as eating candy floss - which I believe our Transatlantic cousins call cotton candy, but I know not why; except, of course, that this is also its name.
Anyway, I pedalled into Yagnub this morning and was extremely warm by the time I arrived, for the wind had dropped and the sun shone. I shopped for food and this and that and, as usual, could hardly cram everything into the panniers, nor lift the bike upright to mount it for the return journey.
I had, steaming gently along St Mary's Street, observed a large banner attached to the railings next to the highly dangerous zebra crossing ... there is nothing dangerous about the zebra itself, but the placing of the crossing is generally agreed to be wildly infelicitous for various reasons, mainly its proximity to junctions and the poor visibility it affords drivers, of people waiting to cross, which is made worse at this time of the year by the low morning sun which blinds those driving in the Halesworth direction. Poor David stopped to let one person across last week, then moved off, not seeing another woman already on the crossing - she wasn't badly hurt but everyone was very upset, she - naturally - most of all. Fixing an advertising banner to the railings (which are designed to stop small children from the primary school right beside from lurching heedlessly into the road) only hampers visibility more, which might be the reason for putting that particular item right there.
It prompted me, at last, to keep a promise I made to Stegbeetle some time ago, and after lunch I trotted off to the temporary blood donor clinic at the convent in the next village. I was slightly disconcerted to be invited to make my next appointment before even finishing the purpose of this visit, but there we go, I suppose I will be useful at last.
Afterwards, I drank some water and ate a ginger nut and discovered that the last of my sweet tooth has completely disappeared. It was only politeness that kept me from discarding most of it. I brought the other two from the pack home and gave them to the Sage.
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You are an angel! Nice one. Now, who shall we cajole into going next...?
What is a zebra crossing...i'm so confused. = )
A zebra crossing is what us Yanks call a crosswalk. Z-I really admire your donating blood, bicycling all over and most of all your ability to use willpower to avoid sweets!
'Infelicitous' - excellent usuage,Z.
Thank you Martina!
There you are, your 'I have nothing to say' has already achieved six comments.
I'm setting my sights on my sons, Steg, but it should be one of our blog friends too. We must charm them into enthusiasm.
Sorry, Jamie, I should have thought of that. And welcome - lovely to see you. Thanks, Martina - I wouldn't actually have known the word you use. Jamie, it's called a 'zebra' crossing because it's marked on the road with black and white stripes.
Hello, Thesaurus, thank you.
Dave, kind friends have come to my rescue, tongue-tied as I am.
Infelicitous, definately. A word I shall endevour to use!
I used to give blood, but its so hard to do here. You have to find a clinic, book an appointment. There is lots of hassle involved. No excuse of course, but in Canada it used to be so easy.
My daughter started because a mobile clinic drew up outside her office one day a few years ago - a good idea in an area where there are a number of offices. I didn't make an appointment as I'd seen the notice too late, but they fitted me in pretty quickly. You can make (or alter or cancel) the appointment online - www.blood.co.uk - and you can put in your postcode and it tells you where the nearest clinic is and dates.
That's the best "nothing to say" that I've read in a long time:0
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