Good Morning, All, and my thanks for all your good wishes. My word, am I not late getting my tuppenceworth in this week.
Yesterday, a group of people from my granddaughter's church in Glasgow were doing a sponsored cycle round the island, and the plan was that the poor sodden bunch should come to us for a cup of coffee, after their circuit.
Now, convention dictates that when people visit Pipesmoker Palace, they must leave with the conviction that the inmates know not what a speck of dust might look like, a place where pictures, paintings and photographs never hang squint on the wall, and where the resident pipesmoker sits around in his best bib and tucker, all Saturday morning.
So it came to pass that anything within the reach and wrath of Mrs P was summarily dumped in the bin. All of which brings me neatly to the point of this ramble. The copy of RT41, which I completed without too much hassle on Tuesday, and laid aside while I saved up for a stamp to post it off, was unceremoniously dumped in the the bin, together with any other bits and pieces I had left behind me. Now, I must needs seek out the Radio Times, copy the crossword again, and hope that I can remember what I have written in the wee squares.
Do any of my fellow contributors suffer thus?
Best wishes to all, for now.
P