I like St George, I mean killed that dragon. Probably. And I love my country, and I am proud of it. Mostly. But all this flag waving makes me uneasy. It was OK when we could do it ironically, like on Last Night of the Proms, but now with Brexit any flagwaving seems wrong.
And I have seen many of my ex-servicemen friends of mine railing against political correctness and the such they see the scourge of modern life. Heres the thing, I served to give everyone the right to free speech. I may not agree on what you say, but will defend the right for you to say it. As long as you stay within the law.
OK?
I mean, it's not hard is it?
Sorry if it offends, but that's what free speech is.
Anyway, on this St George's Day, I was working from home.
And like most days it is a slog, with a battle between the work I am so far behind and the work that tumbles into my inbox.
Sigh.
This is my working life. I don't have enough time to make a coffee, let alone travel to Denmark or Germany.
Sigh.
For lunch I have flatbreads filled with chorizo, onion and pepper with lashings of shoarma sauce. I mean it was a fine lunch. Would have been better with beer or a wine, but not sensible on a workday lunchtime.
I eat lunch sitting on the bench on the patio, sipping orange squash and watching the birds in the garden.As you do.
And back to work, I sit at the table the rest of the afternoon until I realise it was nearly five.
That'll do pig.
So I pack away my work things, get dinner out; more caprese, garlic bread and wine.
Always wine.
It is just done when Jools comes home, she purs the wine, I take the garlic bread out of the oven, and we sit down to eat and go through our daily tribulations.
And that is that.
Football and listen to the radio for the evening. It all goes by too quickly, and is soon time for bed again.
Was this really a four day week?
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