And It's Only 10am

It's been a strange morning and I've only been a participating part of it for three and a half hours. The sun is shining out of a flawless sky and yet I'm sitting in my study hidden away from it. Why? I should be out in the sun doing 'things'. I could go for a ride or visit the open air 'market' or do the garden or even wash and clean the car. But, no, I'm hidden away listening to a Mozart Mass (I've finished the four Brahms Symphonies this morning already) and doing indoor things albeit with the ranch sliders wide apart. So be it.

I picked up the phone earlier to ring a friend and when I scrolled to the phonebook discovered that the software within it had scrambled the contents with the following result:

This is serious. Gone are the days when the telephone had a little slider underneath it (or built in in some cases) with the numbers written on it. I don't know any one's telephone number because they are all stored electronically and provided that I can recall the name of the person I wish to telephone the number will be called at the press of a button. So I'm in a quandary. I expect that I shall simply put a list of numbers on the wall and cope with the massive inconvenience it will cause in my life.

Then I decided that I would treat myself to a bacon buttie (bacon sandwich for those who are not familiar with the term 'buttie') and a cup of tea on the deck for breakfast. Bacon butties are never worth the effort unless made by someone else and, preferably, eaten on the boat crossing between Stornoway and Ullapool at 0630 on a cold winter's morning. But that didn't stop me. Of course it wasn't worth the effort and I'm still trying to get bits of bacon from between my teeth despite possessing every gadget known to dentistry which can be used upon ones self.

I really do not like wasps. I love bees. A bee sting hurts me a great deal more than a wasp's sting. I will quite happily share my space with a bee but not with a wasp. There are a lot of wasps around HeeBeeGeBeEs (The Cottage's proper name) at the moment. And that's what they give me. So I sat having my bacon buttie in the sun with a book and a can of Raid with which to defend myself. So far as I know I avoided actually spraying the buttie but I did score a few direct hits on the wasps.

Then a very peculiar and, in its way, touching thing (in more ways than one) happened. Comet, who had been sitting motionless in between stalking bouts came trotting up (do cats trot?) with a mouse in her mouth. She promptly deposited the gift and demonstration of her prowess on my naked foot. Unfortunately it wasn't dead and, using my foot as a springboard launched a bid for freedom. How do cats move that quickly? Comet got her name from the fact that there was a comet in the sky the night Wendy and Martin acquired her. One might be mistaken for thinking it related to her speed. The last I saw of her she was wandering off towards The House with the mouse in her mouth.

What an exciting life I do lead. I wonder what the rest of the morning will bring. Ah, yes, I forgot: