A different message?

6 March

Friday morning and the start of the weekend. However, for us retired folks, a weekend doesn’t feel and different than any other days. For me today is important because I have an opticians appointment at 1.30. It just leaves me time to write this and get it posted before I set off into town.

While we were in Coventry yesterday we went in to Waterstones so we could have a drink in the Costas that is there. Of course, I did buy a few books too, seven in all. Anyway, we sat down and I was looking at the books I wanted to buy and the guy to me tried to speak to me, but he was having difficulties doing so because his speech had been by a stroke. He was able to say a few things though and between us we were able to communicate fine. This morning I was looking at Facebook and saw something about everyone we meet being a possible character in a story. There are tee-shirts available saying that the wearer is a writer and anything said or in their presence will be noted and can be used in a story. I’ve bought one of those, but meeting that guy yesterday really struck home to me this morning, and I have a place for him in my new Fred Cooper novel.

We have just watched a telly show which was about how poisons are being increasingly used within medicine as a way to cure or counter other poisons. Having ended we swapped channels ready for turning off the telly and caught a wee bit of another show which was on about a consignment of kids toys being withdrawn because tests showed that they contained high levels of thalidomide. OK, fine … but in the other show we had just watched, thalidomide had proved to be useful in treating some kinds of cancers. It shows just how much we can be caught out if watch these shows uncritically.

Another short blog today because of going out so today’s photo is from Cov … 

Part of the Precint

And today’s funny …

After trick-or-treating, 
a teen takes a shortcut home 
through the cemetery. Halfway across, he’s startled by a tapping noise coming from the misty shadows. Trembling with fear, he spots 
an old man with a hammer and chisel, chipping away at a headstone.

“I thought you were a ghost,” 
says the relieved teen. “What are you 
doing working so late?”

“Oh, those idiots,” grumbles the old man. “They misspelled my name!”