Of a sort… Preserved for ever – under the all-seeing eye of the american corporate state surveillance machine. And I’m looking forward to some fun with that extra arm I’ve grown. This just 200 yards from home. Don’t remember seeing a camera car though. But I’m glad I remembered to put on my Sunday best rags at least. Oh, and look carefully: that’s an A1024 notice on the telegraph pole there.
Just back from special invite to the Dull Men’s Club Symposium in Llangollen at the weekend and the presentation of “Anorak of the Year Award”. I didn’t win this time but spent some grey time in the company of some of this country’s finest dullsters including Assistant Vice President* of the Dull Men’s Club, Leland Carlson (aka Grover Click, President of Park Bench Appreciation Society). Much serene jollity was had by all. Winner of the Anorak award was Rachel Williamson from Rhyl for her nocturnal, surreptitious yarn-bombing efforts.
* Assistant VP is the highest office in DMC to limit excitement.
I won’t hear a word against Jacob Rees Mogg – we think he does a great job.
Look what my dear clever wife Keri made… A Lewis Chessman (Warder/Rook) out of portland stone. With thanks to Lottie O’Leary of Knucklas for her guidance.
Jane, you’re beginning to worry me. Two letters this week makes it five since August*1. I think you’ve become rather fixated that we don’t have a television, don’t watch or record anything as it’s being broadcast and don’t use the BBC’s IPlayer service – excellent though I believe it to be.
Whilst I was at first thrilled to receive your lipstick-red letter this week, my smile faded to disappointment at your threatening tone.
Look, I don’t have to have a television and I don’t have to tell you that I don’t. Just like I don’t need to tell the police that I’m not a car thief and haven’t done any shoplifting lately.
So, either do your bloody investigation, like you’ve been threatening for at least a decade, or do the planet a favour and stop wasting paper.
Yours, with love
Martin
*1 and about 400 in the last 10 years.
We’re now 15 months into the long renovation of C17 Fedw Fawr. It wasn’t long after we bought this (frankly a wreck of a) place that we uncovered a serious problem with the mighty main chimney stack. Centuries of rain had washed out all the clay mortar from between the stones. That and the sheer weight of the thing had created a long deep fracture and dangerous slippage about half way up. I could put it off no longer and so spent 3 long days in October at the top of a tall ladder with buckets of lime mortar, spiral steel helixes and lots of rocks to stitch and point it all back together again.
Wait! I just couldn’t… My favourite island delivers sweetly peated fire water to west Wales.
Another of our regular trips to Portmeirion. Can heartily recommend Bridge House #4. We spent the evenings with the lights out just watching the Dwyryd estuary go by. Hotel food sublime as ever; breakfast in the room – luxurious and the woodlands and beaches fabulous. And best of all, we had the entire village pretty much to ourselves ( the food fair started the day after we left).
They don’t make road signs like this any more. This on the lane near Hafod Estate, Devil’s Bridge, Ceredigion.
Take:
One slab of rock, 5ft 3 inches tall
One train crash, political
A poem about the ‘B’ word (B****T)
A collaboration of stone carvers
And a road trip to Parliament Square.
Watch this space…
