Invitation

I am racing to get this written before Mark and Oliver come home from work.

They have called to tell me that they are setting off, which would have been fine, except I have faffed about doing lots of things that I had forgotten to do and trying, at the last minute, to make the house look tidy.

Mostly it is fairly tidy really, except I made the most enormous mess this afternoon, and was so busy clearing it up that I forgot everything else, and discovered when the telephone rang that the fire had gone out, and the curtains had been left open, and the post was still on the doormat.

This latter was the Invitation for the dreaded anti-bat-flu injections.

I do not know what I think about this.

Obviously I am not of the opinion that Bill Gates wishes to inject us all with radio transmitters so that he knows what we are all doing, and can infiltrate our living rooms with 5G causing us all to become obedient automatons. Flattered as I am to imagine that Bill Gates might be interested in our comings and goings here in Windermere, I cannot imagine a single reason why he might wish to listen to us shouting at the dogs or wondering what Oliver might like for pudding since he ate all of the doughnuts this afternoon.

Also if he does wish to turn us all into obedient automatons I would like him to start with Roger Poopy, who has been eating something illicit in the Library Gardens and who was sick on the floor this morning.

Neither do I believe the French version of events, being that it makes your blood go lumpy. You might recall that I have lived in France, and my general experience of the Gallic nature is that hypochondria is not only acceptable, it is practically compulsory, like having a mistress and drinking brandy for breakfast.

On the whole I think the thing is probably perfectly safe, free from spy satellites, and completely without hidden agenda.

I do not want to have it at all.

I do not exactly know why I feel so quietly enraged at being offered what amounts to a perfectly acceptable public health measure, one which the BBC is at pains to explain is not only for my good, but for the good of the nation.

If it is on the BBC then of course it must be true.

Actually I don’t know if the BBC has said that. I do not listen to the BBC any more because they make me shout at the radio, and I think the neighbours can hear.

I suspect the problem is that I do not like being compelled to do things. I am a rebel in my inner soul, and do not at all like being requested to suspend my judgement and simply place my trust in the integrity and honesty of Boris Johnson.

I wonder what advice his wife would have to offer on the subject, maybe I should write to her.

I will have to consider the matter further.

I made the mess by modifying the arch-watering system in the conservatory. This needed adjustment so that it made the moss sufficiently damp to continue growing whilst at the same time not squirting water all over the floor. Regrettably in the process of alteration it made a lot of things very much wetter indeed, mostly me, the floor, the sofa and the dogs. It also squirted moss and soil all over the place at the same time.

It was not my finest hour and took a lot of clearing up.

I think I might have sorted it out now.

I think Mark and Oliver are coming in.

I will see you tomorrow.