The other day I commanded Mrs X to make me one of my favourite meals – meatballs Italian-style.
If you need a good laugh, just go to a supermarket at a busy time. Friday teatimes or Saturday lunchtimes, for example. Go in but don’t stray too far from the door. Then just hang around, looking all unconcerned and non-suspicious until you spot a target.
Someone has sent me their phrase of the week. It is in Latin. Oh help. Something by that great Roman philosopher Cicero, apparently. “Nemo enim fere saltat sobrius, nisi forte insanit.”
It’s only the beginning of October but it is much colder already. Mind you the chilling wind of Brexit could be the cause. It makes my blood run cold.
There was a day that you could go to the pub, drink your fill, talk utter nonsense about politics and politicians, pretend you were an expert about sport and motorcycle maintenance and burp loudly. That was it. A great night.
After another hectic day in Inverness, I was on the ferry back to Stornoway on Monday night when I had a call from The Hearach. He was jubilant. He was aglow. He was dancing.
Maybe I eat too much fish. How many other people have herring for breakfast every day? No one else that I know, that’s for sure. It used to be a mackerel fillet but now I’m on the hard stuff.