The Sage is in Wiltshire and I am at home. It's is very quiet. Tilly is snoozing on the sofa and I - oh, it isn't quiet at all, I'm listening to quite loud music. But there's an emptiness that sound can't fill.
There was a brief meeting this evening to make sure arrangements are all in place for the church supper on Saturday. It was here at half past seven and I reckoned it would be done in twenty minutes and I'd be eating supper by half past eight. We did sort out the practicalities quickly but no one was in a hurry to move and they didn't go until nearly 9.30. I was very hungry and also somewhat embarrassed that I hadn't made coffee and offered wine - I didn't think anyone would want it and by the time it seemed appropriate it was also too late.
I'm so suggestible. Rog mentioned his favourite iPhone apps, which led me to go straight to download two of them. And then, because of the sight of a virtual pint of lager, I was drawn inevitably to a bottle of beer for myself. I planned to have a second with dinner, but by the time I came to eat and drink, the moment had passed and I had wine instead.
"I've left plenty of corn and water for the chickens" said the Sage as he was getting ready to leave. "They will go to roost by themselves, just do their bread in the morning." They have half a loaf, soaked in warm water, in the mornings. "Wouldn't they like a little something at lunchtime?" I asked. "Only if you've time. Otherwise, I've left a couple of bunches of grapes in the porch. You can give them one this teatime and one tomorrow. If you give them a call, they'll follow you."
He just likes being followed about by adoring females, of course.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
12 comments:
... eh? ...
no-one here but us chickens :)
I always eat before church meetings. I can't sleep when I'm hungry.
There must be an iPhone app that calls you with an urgent message at a pre arranged time.
You don't see the appeal of adoring females, Mago? Maybe you should keep chickens.
I feel a song coming on. Or something.
Dave, you're a rascal.
If there isn't, maybe you'd like to devise one, Rog.
Is there some kind of Norfolk-Wiltshire folk-migration? On some blogs we read of nothing else.
I know, it's remarkable. And some people do it permanently - my mother was born in Wiltshire and ended her life in Norfolk.
Oh, so the Sage is in charge of the chickens chez-vous? Don't think I could persuade Bear to take over somehow.
Beer before wine is fine.
But grape and grain should never be seen, without a bottle in between.
ps - Wiltshire? Wasn't dave in Wiltshire just a minute ago? What's in Wiltshire, am I missing something?
I am :)
The Sage is the bird man, Sandy. They are polite to me, but they love him.
But what is the bottle in between, if neither grape nor grain, Dand? Dandelion wine? Raspberry cordial? Dave was staying with Ziggi, only about half an hour from Wink. You are certainly missing both of them, also Stonehenge, Stourhead, Longleat and other delights of the county.
I should think that life without Dave is Empty and Dull, Ziggi.
Post a Comment