Lashings Of Ginger Beer

Things are afoot on Hallett’s Mountain. I suppose though I should say that things are ahoof rather than afoot as most of the occupants are quadrupeds, don’t wear shoes, and have cloven feet. But then they don’t have much part in the decision making process and so, like the people who ignored the European election this week, are rather disenfranchised. The sheep don’t get much say in what is going on. And anyway we eat them sometimes so perhaps it would be foolish to involve them, albeit as vegetarians, in the decision making process in relation to a barbecue. Crumbs, if the majority were to vote for ‘long pig’ it would be like a James Herbert novel with Terry Pratchett overtones around here.
Sorry? Ramble….yes you are right I need to focus a little.
The thing is I only get one shot at this, its here and then its gone and I have no strong conviction that there will be a second life. Even if there was I would be likely to be reincarnated as something far more transient an d hopefully less error prone. I mean the mistakes that I have made could fill a book and I…….
Huh? The point…. alright I am coming to that ..eventually.
The point is that it doesn’t always rain here in July. Even if it does I have a medium sized barn and a casual disregard for the state that carpets get into. There is loads of room to camp. I don’t mind getting a few extra rashers.
In less than four short weeks from today I shall reach, provided the great Moo Moo spares me, my half century. Coming the day before the Americans have a little celebration of their own. There very loose sort of plan going on to mark the Friday evening with a steak and kidney pie and a nice drop of red wine. Then the Saturday afternoon with whatever we can wave over a fire. It is the Saturday then that I wish to draw to your attention,though you are welcome earlier.
If you think that you might like to be here for an half hour or so, or if you see yourself overindulging and possibly passing out in a corner, all comers are welcome…..
Nay more than welcome, I should love to see you all and play the genial if slightly inebriate ‘mien host’ while She Of The Townhouse scurries around keeping the ship afloat.
You are all invited.
No really.
All of you.
And please bring your kids.
There we go, you have three weeks to get organised.