OH SH( scuse me, doorbell)

today was the day for a walk to west byfleet to return my ‘uncle’ books to the library. the vast bulk of this walk is, of course, myself. no, i don’t mean that, i mean ‘along the towpath of the basingstoke canal’ and very pretty it is too.

at this point i should declare that i have male-pattern-baldness syndrome.

at west byfleet trouty bought a dressed crab from the rather traditional fishmonger. 3.50 quids.

i took my library books back and paid my debt to society to the tune of 12 pees fine, and then i got cracking with the main reason for my visit to west byfleet; buying things from woolworths to help me build my geocache. there was very little that i wanted; what a rubbish shop, and then, when i went to pay, using a woolies voucher that i had found on the floor in argos they asked where the other bit was. the other bit was on my floor at home where i had left it thinking it unimportant. so that was the very first GRRRR of the day.

after an important offy-stop for cider we set off back to the canal just in time to encounter about 120 scummy yobs coming the other way and shouting and shrieking and kicking each other. the quieter ones were those enjoying a contemplative post-school cigarette so that just goes to show that smoking IS both big AND clever.

we walked back along the towpath and admired nature getting cracking. the ducks are all getting paired up and the swans are back where they nested last year. as i strolled under the overhanging trees i was introduced to a bird that i did not like so much though.

with a comedy SPLAT effect onto my balding bonce, a bird deposited a greenish-brown shite. i did the oliver hardy face again.

but i had to admit to myself that the sound of splat-down was rather amusing.

swig stats: 3 litres of tesco cider with 4 litres in the fridge as a soothing safety-net reserve.
grub stats: trouty tackled a plate the size of a dustbin lid that was piled high with the sweet, sweet crab salad that she craves. i, however, enjoyed a more modest curry.

in these difficult times, dear readers, i would like to ask for a moment’s silence in respect for the late simonG.org. i would much rather have a vulture shit on my head again rather than have my life’s work explode and fall down around me in a settling dust of glittering megagigabits and electricalbobs. good luck simon; i shall do my chant of mendification for you. trouty says that having a bird crap on your head (STEADY!) means good luck. perhaps you could sleep in a chicken coop for the next couple of nights?