Showing posts with label bleep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bleep. Show all posts

Saturday, 23 August 2014

The UFO. The Mushrooms. The Sofa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and no Steven Spielberg.

I have removed half his name to protect the innocent 


Things can get very strange round this part of the world and that’s for sure, as I was about to type my diary entry for the day a faint bleep started up, not often but every five minutes or so. And it has varied in tone two or three times now. I have checked mobile phones and to be sure it is not them they are now with me as I type. . . . Say hello phones. . . HELLO. . .  What makes this a bit odd is that I have just taken a picture of a headline in the local newspaper, remember the last one I took was of the dancing sheep. Anyway the headline is  . . .  UFO SWERVES OVER POWYS . . .  so could it be they are closer than I think. . . . . .WELL COOL.

Last night we went off to the Indian in Monty, the food is usually really good but for some reason things did not really go that well and food had to be sent back to be heated and no one likes a chewy After Eight Mint (OK I quite like chewy after eight mints . . . . a bit sort of). And all in all they did not seem themselves. In the light of the headlines in the local newspaper and the strange bleeping maybe they were not themselves at all, but ALIENS. . . . WELL COOL (AGAIN). . . .

Interestingly we had battered mushrooms tonight with chilli sauce and rice because friends locally had been out in one of the fields where they said there were hundreds of mushrooms which had formed a large bizarre shape in the field. They ended up with so many that they have supplied most of the village with them.



Oooooo yes yesterday I moved a sofa, it is all part of a grand master plan to clear enough room to make a large model of a mountain, OK an extinct volcano with a secret route up to the top. Well it is one of those things we all need to do sometime . . . . . . . . .




And that bleep has vanished and I still don’t know what it was.  Where is that nice Steven Spielberg when you need him . . . .?