….the royal families in London, Madrid and Copenhagen.
You all know of the goings on in the Spanish and American courts which allegedly implicate the Houses of Bourbon and Windsor, both suggesting a lack of awareness of dignity, duty and accountability.
And today the Crown Prince here is being pilloried for his own disregard of the royal code. Twice during the weekend when the bridge over the Great Belt was closed owing to the persistent storms, he chose to drive over. Just him, no security – while thousands of other motorists had to wait or find other routes.
Nice job, eh?
Saturday at about 5 pm I texted Mrs J: ‘Being blown away here, best come home now.’ At 6 she replied: ‘On my way now.’ She was 12 miles away, helping out at a birthday do, and I reckoned it would take half an hour, given the stormy conditions and Mrs J’s careful driving.
At 6.30 my phone rang. ‘I’m OK but I’m stuck here, half a mile from home. Tree all over the road, car in the ditch. Can’t see a thing here.’
So I grabbed a torch, booted up and walked through the wild wood 400 m to the road, turned left and soon came to the fallen tree, hearing Mrs J saying, ‘I’m here and this kind gentleman will drive me home the long way round.’
Which he did, arriving soon after I had retraced my steps, troubled only by an inquisitive owl which swooped into my torchlight to see if I was edible.
This morning the rescue service could pull the car out of the ditch undamaged. So no harm done – apart from the fright of Mrs J’s life and a night of what ifs.
No, I’m fine. No really, I’m coping
With the permanent pain in my head.
Though I’ve tried ev’ry pill, ev’ry potion
And spent long, lonely hours in my bed. Read more…
Have the wheels of the Chariot’s life-cycle pfinally fallen off, after wobbling dangerously for many months?
Will the anticipated new year greetings be the last gasp?
Does anyone really want to make the effort to salvage the old Chariot?
These and many other premonitions of doom…..
It’s the shortest day now. So the folk of the Scandinavian diaspora are celebrating Winter with traditional acts of homage. Our nisse is already ensconced under the thatch, awaiting his plate of yuletide fare which the children will leave for him this evening. They are very brave to climb up into the spidery loft but are spurred on by the memory that last year the food had gone in a couple of days. More modern god-botherers have hijacked the occasion and renamed it the fourth Sunday in Advent, but they are forgiven, because the four candles make a marvellous decoration. Read more…
Even though all our cherished chefs de cuisine made their puds months ago, I thought Matt’s advice might come in handy for some.
And Mac offers another tasty reminder:
Have you been eating beans again?
More jam tomorrow from the PR pros of the world’s governments. They have now agreed to agree again in Paris next year. That’s progress – not.
It’s a bad bout of sciatica – probably the worst man-strain ever presented – rendering both of us grumpy and immobile.
Why am I burdening you with this news, cherished reader? Because we’re seeking both sympathy and palliative ideas, if you have a festive moment to spare.
Thank you. 😣
The former First Minister intends to return! So, perhaps prematurely, here’s a ‘guid new year to you’ from me! But if he doesn’t get in, I’ve got just the job for him: