As my post count moves closer and closer to 2,000 I find my main feeling is not one of achievement, but one of wanting a rest. This is accompanied by a realisation that reaching 2,000 posts is just reaching a number, rather than finding enlightenment or suddenly breaching a barrier and breaking through into the sunlit uplands of quality blogging. Standards have in fact fallen so far that I am typing this without my glasses. It’s not as lax as blogging in my pyjamas, but I’d be doomed if I didn’t have a spell-checker.
Even with glasses my typing wouldn’t win any prizes, as I often see when reading the gobbledygook that passes as previous posts. I’m often amazed that despite my best efforts at composition and proof-reading there are still pockets of gibberish lurking to embarrass me on re-reading. I hate that.
I got two pointless answers on the final question of Pointless last night. For those of you who don’t watch the programme, this is pretty good, but does, in truth, not compare with a Nobel Prize or an Oscar.
My answers were Duke of Burgundy and Adonis Blue. I would have scored the triple with Cryptic Wood White but I couldn’t remember the word “Cryptic” so settled for Black-Veined White, which wasn’t pointless. When I checked it for the link it would appear to be extinct in the UK, so that explains it. To be honest, I’m feeling more deflated at missing the triple than I am elated at nailing two of them, even though was two more than the real finalists. It’s a sign of ageing that I am finding it harder to access my full vocabulary. If I hate finding gibberish in past posts, I really hate not being able to find the right words.
My photos are of commoner butterflies, which are the best I can do.
Of course, another sign of ageing is attaching importance to answering questions on TV quiz shows. That’s one of the milder signs of encroaching old age.
The butterfly photos are from A Painted Lady Comes to Call, which indicates that in August 2017 we had crumble for tea. We had crumble for tea tonight – apple and rhubarb with ice cream. Some things don’t change much. Or, to look at it another way, some things are so good they can’t be improved.
Talking of age, I just deleted the entire post. This is the second time I’ve done this recently. Fortunately I managed to get it back without too much trouble, but it’s a worry that I keep doing it. I really must get a grip.
A most impressive Pointless score
Thank you. I was quite pleased, though being good at Pointless is, unfortunately, pointless.
🙂
That invasion was a pain, Lavinia.
Yes, it was, indeed. It was not how I wanted to spend a good chunk of my day here. I was hoping to get in some reading and a good nap. 🙂
Reading? Napping? With cats and scenery that sounds like paradise!
It is! 🙂
🙂
Hope you can find some respite and refreshment of spirit, Quercus. You have been through a lot recently.
We had an invasion of a cow and bull from four properties away today. Hungry critters who snacked not only on grass but grape vines and shrubs. The county sheriffs came out to capture them as they took off through yet another property. It was not how I wanted to spend a good chunk of my Saturday.
No, they can be quite alarming once they get going. I hope the damage to the vines isn’t too bad. We were invaded by cows once, about 50 years ago, but the worst thing they did was leave footprints in the lawn.
Not too much damage, but the sheriffs spent a good two hours chasing them before the owners were located.
Still not a great way to spend the day but I suppose it could have been worse.
Deleting posts is not recommended. I would agree that trying to stop doing it would be a good idea.
I have always thought of crumble as a substance probably invented by protestant church people to ensure that you don’t get carried away by the pleasure of eating unadulterated stewed fruit and cream.
I thought it was an invention of the sugar marketing council. 🙂
Meanwhile I am ploughing ahead recklessly and trying to avoid deleting posts.
Good luck.
I avoided it this afternoon. I’m hoping it might be the start of a habit.