Do you ever have one of those days when thwarts trip you up which ever way you turn?



Simple things like ring pulls snapping off tins and you can't find the opener and you resort to a hammer, screwdriver and electric jig-saw, give up and decide to have corned beef instead and the key is missing and you resort to a hammer, screwdriver, electric jig-saw and gelignite.
Or you go round to a friend's house and they're out, although they never go out because they are as boring and old as you are, and you are simply panting for a cup of Earl Grey.
Or one of those days, or weeks really, when all the communication devices in the world can't help resolve your most pressing problem i.e. MOVING.
a] Solicitors and/or estate agents don't answer the telephone.
b] Solicitors and/or estate agents answer the telephone and promise to phone back later and don't.
c] Solicitors and/or estate agents promise to email you and they don't.
d] Solicitors and/or estate agents are playing golf in a meeting.
e] Solicitors and/or estate agents are twelve year olds.
Or, even worse, a day when Blogware won't load and you just know there are people out there desperate for your words of comfort and wisdom and when you do eventually manage to burst through there is no explanation and no word of apology.
Luckily none of these things happen to me - otherwise I might be in a TEMPER.

(Yes and I'd be turning into a VERY TERRIBLE GODDESS INDEED. Lo, TG Ed.)

P.S. No editing required today. Temper [possible or otherwise] obviously improves spelling and syntax. TG

Having revealed the secrets of the way the world wags the other day - Möbius scarves et al - I have decided to share my long held belief that Stonehenge is a telephone exchange.



We all know that an awful lot of ley lines lead straight to the stone circle. There was one of those very 'in depth' pieces on the television several years ago [actually it might be decades by now] about the power and significance of ley lines. There was a knit-yer-own-yoghurt bod who, when he touched a standing stone on a ley line actually started to behave like Frog dog doesn't when confronted with a human leg. The bewhiskered gentleman said that if someone else was interfering with another stone on the same line he could 'pick up the vibe'.

This immediately suggested to me that woaded people across the land could tap away morse code on their local lump of granite and this information would be carried along the lines of monoliths to Stonehenge. Every village had to hire men to man the menhir. The telephone operators, or priests, at the main exchange could then forward messages as appropriate.

The lines of communication go across the channel to Carnac, so even then it was possible to keep an eye on house prices, home and away.

Unfortunately the skills were lost when cocoa tins and string became commonplace and modern means of having a gossip got under way.

I have many other theories including the danger of peanuts, that futons were invented by sadists and so on but the terrible Goddess has placed a gagging order on me. Apparently this is for your sake and not mine - the hay fever season has just started and I at first assumed it was a thoughtful protective device. (These useful articles are inexpensive and can be obtained from the same source as the Cat Carrier. (Lo, TG Ed.)