I have been having a few bed days, during which I have learnt that I can hold my breath for up to ninety seconds and that, however bored I may get, I will probably never manage to count all the chips in the woodchip wallpaper. You’ll probably be quite relieved.
You may remember that when our friend Geoff Muse drowned last year, there was talk of giving him a second, Viking funeral. Well weather-permitting, they’re going to do this on Thursday, just before Goth Weekend. They’ve got a special longboat which they are going to tow out to sea with Geoff’s ashes on it, and then shoot burning arrows at it. Yes I know there may seem some irony in burning someone’s ashes, but back in the ninth century it wouldn’t have taken so much time to build a longboat and inform the police and coastguard about what you were going to do.
There’s an article about this in the Whitby Gazette. I don’t think I will be up to even trundling down to the seafront to watch, which is a shame as I missed his first funeral. Never mind, it will certainly be valuable for others who are in far greater need than I and [...] will probably go.
Our sea defences are maintained with rock which comes across in these big Scandinavian ships. One day one of these Danes or Norwegians (I'm sorry he couldn't tell the difference) came into our friend H's jet shop and explained that he'd been up in the graveyard on the cliff top (the one where Dracula first takes a bite at Lucy, as you may recall) apologising to the gravestones for what his people had done to our people. Apologising for the Viking invasion.
Also in the Whitby Gazette, there is news of my GP who is currently somewhere on his way up Everest. I am particularly concerned with the sentence; Dr Sutcliffe entertained his fellow climbers with tales of medicine as they wound their way up the Loboche Kola river. Now I am convinced that half of Nepal are recounting tales of my hilarious medical history.
On the subject of good people, anyone who hasn’t read about the Guerilla Gardeners yet might like to do so. They are a group of people in London who come out at night and plant things on patches of ground and in empty concrete pots and things belonging to the local councils. Their activities are of questionable legality, but unquestionable virtue and anybody who lives in a city, and has the capacity and aptitude for this sort of thing really ought to take a look.
Here is the most pointless item I have seen on eBay this week.
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