I don’t suppose you could even pretend to think this is slightly literary? I am not doing well with my reading, so far. It’s too hot. We even managed to get lost yesterday, in an area where I’ve lived on and off most of my life. And it’s July. Tourists everywhere. Too many of them. I don’t like it.
I do read my newspaper, though. It’s in the letterbox by five. I think. I’m not up that early to check. So it gets to have breakfast with me. There isn’t much in it. The paper, not the breakfast. Hence its obsession with stolen lawnmowers, or bikes on fire.
The lawnmower is an old family joke. In his early days of reading this paper Son was somewhat puzzled why they felt the need to cover the stolen lawnmower in Knäred.
There was a bike on fire the other day, and I’m really concerned in case it’s still flaming merrily away. I forget where. Not Knäred. I’m now a language policewitch. I’m sure they meant to write that the fire was easily put out by a fireman stamping on the tiny flames. However, they just suggested that had there been a fireman, and had he stamped on the flames, then the fire would be out.
So, I don’t know.
I’m still spending a not insignificant amount of time not finding my glasses. One complication I suffer is finding other people’s glasses instead. And they don’t work for me!
Found another twelve bilberries in my woodland. It really does seem as if that is destined to be my annual bilberry crop. They went on my bran flakes yesterday morning.
Now, where are my Crocs?