Lazy Sunday

It is Lawnmower Day at our local museum.

I didn't go. Dig, who is home en route from his tours between Hong Kong to Brazil, took the little grits to enjoy this delightful event.

Understandably, given my propensity to the obsessional and eccentric, my love for people driven by a collecting passion such as Shiny teapots 1950-1952, and my delight in the child-like pursuit of old men as they fondle non-functioning mechanical organs and miniature train sets, I was a little jealous.

To my way of thinking, the eccentrics in this country are simply a wonderful part of what it is live in England today. (I can't count Wales, Scotland and N.Ireland simply because I do not know what you do with your passions, but down here in the home counties, we put ours in the shed then see what happens.)

You are probably not wondering what an old woman like me did with her Sunday off. I spent the day in a Suffolk pub.

 

For the benefit of the American reader, pubs in Suffolk are like sheds with beer pumps.

Honestly, it is not all vague. Here's my relevant reading.