Today was a rambling kind of day. It’s been some time since I’ve driven towards that great metropolis of Bournemouth and so I’ve missed seeing what Mr Weathervane’s been hanging outside his place of work. A few weeks ago I maligned him with a post about his rugby linked sour grapes. Today he redeemed himself. A beautiful dove, carrying an olive branch flew above a scarlet poppy. Beautiful indeed.
The purpose of my travels was to visit an opticians - for a contact lens check. This proved to be a mouth-watering experience - the lunch order was being taken. One assistant pondered adding a packet of crisps to her order. The list-maker suggested she was being greedy. Obviously she hadn’t looked in a mirror lately.
I know that sounds bitchy, but you didn’t hear the tone of her voice. Pots flying around could not have been blacker.
The streets of Bournemouth were full of Poppy collectors. When I lived in the town I was a collector - I was actually part of the committee that co-ordinated the event. So generous were the folk in the town centre that two tins could be filled before the two hour limit was up. I hope they do as well this weekend.
I could ramble on some more, but I don’t feel you want to know about my experiences in the changing rooms of a well known store, the strange people I met in a lift, nor my desperate search for chocolate. No, I know when to stop, almost.