Last night was another few hours of my life lost to the lure of scrumpy down at the Hope and Anchor, our local rhyming slang inn. I think I was with the proverbial Farmer Giles, who regaled us with many of his tales.
I vaguely remember discussing recent news about proposals to cut sentencing, before becoming a bit befuddled in a slowly turning grey mist streaked with orange and large droplets of what seemed to be vodka. It was as though I was caught in a twister, but in the end it turned out to be a screwdriver. Anyway, we was debating the effects these changes in sentencing - in a legalistic sense, rather than grammatically-speaking - would have on the local sheep dog trials, when he told me about his new arrival. No, it wasn't another piglet - he has put all that behind him -, he was referring to his new sheep dog. Apparently, Shep (the proverbial Farmer Giles is not one of life's creative thinkers) tends to be a bit emotional, a bit unpredictable, and has a morbid fear of being left behind on the high moors. I think he has found himself one of those borderline collies.
Farmchair Filosophy - being a harvesting of my ponderings from my wanderings over the hills, including re-workings of philosophy and ancient wisdom within an agricultural and bucolic paradigm, axioms, hammerisms, maxims, minims, aphids and aphorisms.
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