Aha, the weekend, that wonderful time when everybody else is off work too, cluttering up the place for us convalescent pedants. Still, I do get a more reliable taxi service, so at least I'm not so much of a pedestrian.
Today, we're having a meal cooked by our radical conservationist friend, JD. Whether spoons are required, we'll have to wait and see. I doubt it somehow, as it's venison on the menu. When I say "venison", I mean the non-indigenous to Britain, invasive species of deer, the cute and cuddly Muntjac. I'm half hoping for Canada Goose pate for hors d'oeuvre but I'm a little nervous about what sort of dessert can be created from a Grey Squirrel. I did say "radical".
JD works in habitat management, which, in case you're wondering, isn't the same thing as being employed by Sir Terence Conran. One creates homes for a wild life, the other, homes for wildlife. I imagine that to Sir T, heather is the colour palette of his latest soft furnishing range, but to JD, it's a 3 day conference at the other end of the country, several meetings in London and a 42 page report to be in by next week. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, perhaps the world is unfolding much as it should, when there are folk around who are that passionate about the environment. I am suitably proud to be considered an acquaintance of his. (Yes, yes, I know, that Habitat is not owned by Conran any more, it's under the umbrella of the Ikea founder's family, but JD and his mates are more rat pack than flat pack.)
Whilst I'm typing this, the cricket commentary of the Durham v Yorkshire match is on the internet. There's something magical about listening to North East accents whilst sitting so many miles away from the Land of the Prince Bishops. If I could just slip into the vernacular for a minute, Howay! It's a terrible cross to bear, y'know, being too Southern for the North and too Northern for the South. Nee wonder aah'm not reet canny.