Saturday morning ramblings.

Well, that’s another Whit Friday celebration over and done with. And it rained, as we all hoped it wouldn’t but expected it would. Instead of the day getting brighter, it got gloomier and gloomier. But our old friend turned up, we walked to the pub at the edge of the village under our umbrellas, had a pint, walked a bit further into the centre of the village and watched a few bands march in.

And even in the rain it was quite spectacular. There is something very fine about a marching band. Most of the bands we saw were very disciplined and marched in step in their smart uniforms. One went very New Orleans on us and didn’t so much march as boogie their way in, playing a very jazzy piece. Not a matching outfit between them. We agreed they would probably win o prizes but, boy, did they have your foot tapping! And they seemed to be having fun, which surely, is what it’s all about. 

Then we went home and ate and drank probably rather too much and listened to lots of different music, courtesy of Phil, who decided to be DJ for evening. Lots of nostalgia was indulged in.

This morning dawned fine and windy, and surprisingly warm. Wouldn’t you just know it would do that. So I took our friend on a walk round the village, pointing out some of my favourite bits and even spotting the heron fishing on the millpond. Back home, we gave him coffee and toast and sent him on his way. 

In the wider world, Ireland appears to have voted to relax its laws on abortion. The anti-abortion voters are predictably devastated and declare it to be a disaster for their country. Someone should point out to them that it is possible to be pro-choice and never actually want to have an abortion yourself. It’s all about giving women control over their lives.

I was going to remark that Donald Trump had perhaps given up in the idea of winning the Nobel Peace Prize as he had cancelled talks with North Korea! But now it seems he has decided that the talks will go ahead as planned. However, there is plenty of time between ow and June 12th for any number of decisions to be taken and changed again and again.

And finally, the other day I watched a young man come down the stairs at Piccadilly Station in Manchester carrying a little scooter. As he hopped onto his scooter at the bottom of the stairs and scooted away, I thought he was wearing angel wings. Very odd! Then I realised that he had his skate board jammed between his back and his backpack. Not wings but something much more substantial. 

Maybe he was on his way to the skateboard park not far from the station, a place where twenty-somethings recapture their childhood. Oops! Can I say things like that about young men? Yes, I can.

But you never see female twenty-somethings playing with dolls.

Or maybe you do, but they are real babies.

And maybe they have replaced playing with those paper dolls you dress up in fashion clothes with actually going out and buying clothes.

At least the young man with his skateboard wings was getting some exercise.