Another rollercoaster week.
Tax return, returned with three days to spare, and if that’s not reason enough to celebrate, we also had an anniversary.
Thirty years since our first date. Just the two of us, at home, dinner and wine. It was very nice, GorJus gave us gifts. Tulips, chocolates and Pearl deodorant, because thirty years is traditionally marked with a gift of pearls, not because we’re sweaty and smelly. I’m hoping that by Cornflake’s birthday, mid March, we’ll be able to celebrate old school style. You know, with friends, in a bar.
Dream, dream, dream.
When I left work yesterday, it was light. I always enjoy the first realisation that the days really are getting longer again, that Mother Nature has not forgotten. Time to start perking up, like those brave little crocuses and snowdrops that are looking lively in the parks just now.
And yet…
This week also marked over one hundred thousand Covid deaths. I’m yet to recover from the nerve of the johnson claiming that he and his government couldn’t have done more to lower the Covid death rate.
This combined with the, Can you look into their eyes and tell them….. ad campaign, has rendered me almost speechless..
Can you look into their eyes and tell them that you ate out to help out?
Can you look into their eyes and tell them you used your common sense?
Can you look into their eyes and tell them that you stayed alert? To take it on the chin? That they’re one of the herd?
Remember, they’re not so much trying to blame the public, as they want the public to blame each other.
I don’t think so johnson et al.
fat tart 