BLUEMOMENT

The anticipation is building by the day.

For the day.

It only comes but once a year.

The immortal words...

Some where in deepest , darkest englandshire old, salt water, wind, sun and occasional light DIY worn hands are working life into ,and alcohol out of, fingers more used to clutching whisky glasses than typing.
But every winter they manage to rise to the occasion, to give us hope for better, lighter days ahead with the immortal words.

Patience.....patience.

You are ruining the surprise!

Bluemoment's, winter tyres! You can set your clock by it, unfortunately.

It has come round fast, I was just saying that to Mrs Ponsonby and she was in agreement, she was, it is she said, you are so right, comes round fast, I mean whatever, where does it go, it was only just last month, I blame this what's it name, and all this sitting about malarky, I mean that nice girl, what's her name, the political one, she does get a bit bossy, I think, still nice girl, you can tell, but she has been saying the same thing for a long time now, Mr Ponsonby was just saying, that it comes earlier every year, unlike, what's her name, that nice girl, the political one, that keeps saying the same thing, I tell you, all year long she has been saying it, and what about it, I tell you, still it will be nice when it comes, gives the old dears something to look forward to, I mean they don't have much, do they, there for the grace of God you know, well whatever next, clocks I tell you, clocks, if not this or that it's something else, isn't it, except if your listening to that nice young girl, the political one, you know, same old, same old, never changing, but have you seen the cost of whatsit, no that never stays the same, it does not, I remember when when you got two for a farthing, so you could, you can't get much for a farthing now. Is that the time, I must be off, he will be waiting, Mr Ponsonby, he doesn't like to wait, it's his, down there behind bits, needs the cream you know, how we laugh at his picture perfect face after the cream, I tell you what, its no laughing matter, no its not, is that the time, must dash, bulbs to plant.

Can't imagine what it is. I've already received Claymore's annual missive.

Donald

But wait - I see you stand like greyhounds in the slip.....

So true, we do, ready for the off, on the countdown, knowing that the benign of the end has started. Not quite light at the end of the tunnel, but you know it's on the way.

Well. Here in Pitlochry it doesn't feel any better. It's Bliddy freezing!

Donald