Paul walked to the local shop this morning while the sun was still shining. I opted to stay at home and do some baking. The doorbell rang just as I was up to my eyes in flour but I was expecting a parcel so I ran downstairs to answer it. It was Mr Irish. Our friendly neighbour doesn’t open his mouth when he speaks and I just find it so difficult to understand his Irish brogue. He sports a full beard and resembles a short-sighted ferret peering through a hedge.
“’Tis a fine day begorrah mumble mumble mumble ... before you leave?”
“Um, we don’t go for another two weeks.”
“Bejaysus mumble mumble mumble didn’t want to miss you.”
“Don’t worry, we will be sure to see you before we go.”
He is such a sweet neighbour, he furnishes us with old newspapers to take back to France to light our woodburner and lets us fill his dustbin with our rubbish on the day we depart.
When Paul got home we decided to do some Tai Chi with Nancy. Paul set up his laptop and we got ready to do the nice slow and graceful movements with Nancy.
“This is going too fast.”
“It’s the one we always do.”
“The music isn’t tinkling.”
“I’m sure it’s right.”
“Nancy’s trousers are blowing so fast in the breeze she looks like she’s going to take off.”
“I’ll check it.”
“I can’t keep up with her.”
“Oops, I pressed the wrong switch.”