Yet more evidence that Fran and Outdoors are not best friends
No, this isn't an intimate confession about digestive disorders. I write those on my other blog 'Intimate Confessions about My Digestive Disorders' which, oddly, doesn't seem to be getting a lot of readers, along with its sister blogs 'Descriptions of my Warty Growths' and 'Adventures with Toenail Clippings'.
No, by 'wind', I mean the blowy stuff.
Here's a proper dictionary definition, in case you felt my definition 'the blowy stuff' lacked some precision.
Wind: air in natural motion, as that moving horizontally at any velocity along the earth's surface.
Air? Motion? Moving horizontally? Velocity? Along? The words themselves make me suspicious. There is far, far too much movement involved there.
If someone offered me a 'day out in windy weather' and someone else offered me 'a day cleaning hairs out of other people's plugholes' I would take the latter and be truly grateful. I remember walking along a canal once with a friend and it was really windy, the kind of windy that flattens all your clothes against your body so that everyone coming towards you can see your real shape, even down to distinguishing that last night you had pie, chips and peas for dinner followed by three Flakes and a choc ice. I was only just tolerating it all but the friend was gushing like a geyser with diarrhoea about the experience. She was all, 'Oh, this is AMAZing! Don't you just LOVE the wind blowing through your hair?! It's an inCREDible feeling!'
I said to her, 'If you don't shut up about it, sunshine, you'll be in the canal feeling the water blow through your lungs, and see how you like that.' I was getting pretty cheesed off (can you tell?) mooching along with my hands in my pockets, trying to hide the pie and chips from all the other walkers and cursing Wordsworth and anyone else who recommends leaving one's house voluntarily. Funny, haven't had a Christmas card from that particular friend for ages now.
These days, before I go outside, I look at the trees at the back of our house. For me to venture over the front door mat, they have to look like this.
|Fran's favourite kind of tree. Disciplined. Orderly. Still.|
If I see THIS out of the window, on the other hand ...
I'm checking www.daysoutcleaningplugholes.co.uk and signing up.
Is it just me? It usually is, but you never know ...