Good morning on what one has to describe as a somewhat disappointing May morning – a bit on the grey side and somewhat cooler than one might have wished for. The disappointment is undoubtedly intensified because the weather during the week has been nothing short of sensational – clear, bright blue skies with temperatures in the high 60s/low 70s. In other words, just the sort of weather you want to gaze out on all week while you are stuck inside. And, of course, it’s sod’s law that as soon as the weekend arrives, a bank holiday weekend no less (we have Monday off in celebration of May Day), the weather will turn cold and overcast.
In fact, the forecast yesterday was for weather exactly like we’ve had all week – bright clear skies and temperatures creeping in to the low 70s so Ms Playchute and I had more or less decided to tie the bikes on the back of the car, pack a picnic, find some quiet country lanes somewhere and spend a pleasant afternoon meandering along the byways. When we woke, it was so cold and grey that I was compelled to turn the central heating back on and thaw out my underpants. So, we waited through the morning for the weather to improve; it didn’t. We waited through the early afternoon hoping that the weather would improve; it didn’t. So, finally, about 2.30, we decided to abandon our bike riding ambitions and settle for a good walk somewhere. So, off to the South Oxford Canal we went.
As you will know, this is a walk we do from time to time. We take both cars and drive to Cropredy, about six miles from here. There we park one of the cars and then drive up the canal for about three miles towards Claydon where we park the second car and begin our walk. Molly, of course, loves it – so many fresh smells and, as luck would have it, the moment we set foot on the towpath, the skies cleared and the temperatures began to climb. It wasn’t long before I had to discard my fleece and sweater and tie them around my waist. It had turned out gorgeous. Lots of activity with narrow boats wandering up and down the canal, a number of dogs with whom Molly could exchange pleasantries not to mention the blossom on the hedgerow. In short, in spite of our suspicions, it had turned out glorious.
Until we got to within about half a mile of our destination at Cropredy, that is.
I have to say, I don’t know what it was that made me think but I seem to recollect that I was beginning to look forward to the ice cream we could purchase at the shop on the bridge at Cropredy. Then, I think, in my mind’s eye we were walking down the road towards the car park when I remembered. As we had set off from the other car in Claydon about an hour beforehand, Pen had said that she was going to leave her keys in the car. “They’ll be safe here, won’t they?” she asked as we set off. Since I was intending to lock the car, of course they would be safe.
You can see the problem, I suspect. Here we are, three miles from one car in which we have locked Penelope’s keys. Penelope’s keys have a key to her car which we have conveniently parked in Cropredy which is where we were now approaching. My keys, you will have deduced, which were in my pocket, do not have a key to Penelope’s car.
Still, if we hadn’t had to turn around and trudge our way back up the canal, we wouldn’t have seen the nest of the yellow-bellied wag tails in the gate of one of the locks – every time a canal barge came through the lock, the babies got to take a trip as the gate opened and closed again. Meanwhile, Mum and Dad would stand just a few metres away scolding the canal users as they shunted their babies to and fro. Never mind, we still got our ice cream.
I ran across the following earlier in the week which I guess Sandy, Steph and Dad and Mom will know all about.
When the cinder block falls, it's spring in Vermont WEST DANVILLE, Vt. (AP) — Spring arrived at Joe's Pond at exactly 4:45 p.m. Tuesday. That's when a 65-pound cinder block fell through the ice, earning a Montpelier man a cool $4,216. Locals have been betting for 20 years on when the frozen northern Vermont lake breaks up for spring. A ticket to enter the contest, known as Joe's Pond Ice Out, costs $1. Contestants guess the exact time the spring thaw comes each year, which is measured by the cinder block attached to an old-fashioned alarm clock. When the ice melts and the block falls through, the string tugs on the clock and stops it. Dr. Robert Marshall was the winner this year with his guess of 4:36 p.m. on May 1, according to Jane Brown, secretary of the Joe's Pond Association. The next-closest guesses were 4:35 p.m. and 5 p.m. The other half of the pot will go to the association to stage its annual fireworks show. |
So, while we’ve been enjoying our Spring weather for several weeks now, it’s good to know that those of you in the East can also now put away the thermal underwear.
Finally, the attached Word document is more or less self-explanatory. Print it out, cut it up and start leaving cards concerning Pete’s expedition wherever you happen to be.
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And finally, finally, the weather was so glorious yesterday evening that we were compelled to recover from our marathon excursion down and back up the canal that we sat outside with a glass or two of half decent Bordeaux. The attached don’t really do it justice but this year the wisteria has been sensational. The other is of a golden acer which is in the border. Lots of other stuff which is similarly in a sensational state just at the moment but you’ll just have to take my word for that.
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Love to you all,
Greg
The CIA loses track of one of its operatives, and so calls in one of their top spy hunters.
The CIA boss says, "All I can tell you is that his name is Murphy and that he's somewhere in Ireland. If you think you've located him, tell him the code words, 'The weather forecast calls for mist in the morning.' If it's really him, he'll answer, 'Yes, and for mist at noon as well.'"
So the spy hunter goes to Ireland and stops in a bar in one of the small towns. He says to the bartender, "Maybe you can help me. I'm looking for a guy named Murphy."
The bartender replies, "You're going to have to be more specific because, around here, there are lots of guys named Murphy. There's Murphy the Baker, who runs the pastry shop on the next block. There's Murphy the Banker, who's president of our local savings bank. There's Murphy the Blacksmith, who works at the stables. And, as a matter of fact, my name is Murphy, too."
Hearing this, the spy hunter figures he might as well try the code words on the bartender, so he says, "The weather forecast calls for mist in the morning."
The bartender replies, "Oh, you're looking for Murphy the Spy. He lives right down the street on the left."
A cocky Department of Agriculture representative stopped at a farm and talked with the old farmer, telling him, "I need to inspect your farm." The old farmer said "OK, but don't go in that field right over yonder."
The Agriculture representative went red in the face and lectured, "Sir, I have the authority of the U.S. Government behind me. See this ID card? It means I am allowed to go wherever I wish on any agricultural land -- no questions asked or answered. Do you understand!?"
The farmer nodded politely and went about his chores. Later, he heard loud screams and saw the Ag Rep running for the fence. Close behind was the farmer's huge-horned prize bull. The bull was madder than a nest full of hornets, and was gaining on the government man at every step.
"Help! HELP!" the Aggie screamed.
The old farmer called out, "Show him your ID card! Show him your ID card!!"
The current scandals over how large companies have been cooking the books reminds me of a basic accounting course I took years ago.
The professor was explaining an accounting method called "First In Last Out," which is useful for industries that accumulate large inventories of stuff. It explains why the oil industry, for example, reported huge profits during the 1970's when the oil shortage occurred. They stopped buying oil, so they had to use oil that, on paper, had been purchased in the 1930's at 20¢ a barrel. They of course sold it at current market prices, which accounted for their huge profits.
One of the students put up his hand and said, "Excuse me, sir, but that doesn't sound very ethical to me."
To which the professor replied, "You're in the wrong class, son, this is Accounting 101. Ethics 101 is two doors down the hall, on the left."
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