Ominous sky

It was Linda's birthday today, but I won't tell you what age she has reached. Suffice to say that she is as old as her eyes and older than her teeth.

We (Linda, Liam, Cathie and I) went out to Piperdam for a meal (Piperdam is as close to a country club as we have round about these parts) and a wander. The place is lovely... spoiled only by people who like to play golf (which, as any of you who are used to your daily bowl of Stu will know, is a waste of a good walk and lovely countryside).

The main problem is that the restaurant is right next to the bar, and while smoking is not allowed in the restaurant, diners have to walk through a very smoky lounge bar to get to it. Well... that and the golfers... or even worse... golfers sitting at the bar, right next to the entrance to the restaurant, smoking fat cigars whilst consuming malt whisky and conversing loudly about the hole-in-one that got away at the 12th, or about their new car, or about anything at all actually.

I must apologise to those of you who enjoy chasing a little white ball around a park with sticks of an afternoon, but... honestly... I'm sorry, I just don't like golf, and while I accept that most golfers are, apart from their dress sense, thoroughly decent lads and lassies (especially those who partake of their daily bowl), I find that when a group of golfers get together (what is the collective noun for golfers? A bag? A set?) the talk inevitably turns to birds, snotters, BMWs and fitted kitchens. I am allowed to have an irrational dislike of something, and why not golfers.

So anyway, the meal was nice, spoiled only by the cigar puffing, whisky slugging, loud-mouthed golf boors whose presence was always apparent.

Back to the house, and I thought that I had walked into a florist's shop. Honestly, there are flowers of every description all over the place. Perhaps someone ought to tell people that it was Linda's birthday, and that she is not ill. Still, plenty of photographic material now! So steel yourself for loads of photos of flowers!


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