My Old Imperial

A procrastinator, that is.

Yesterday was to have been a post day, especially after my dismal performance, or lack of it, during the entire week. It was actually at half past midnight before I realised that the chance to post yesterday had expired.

Today it is lovely and cool, torrential rain at 5:30am. It finally stopped about 10am and left the day wonderfully refreshingly cool. The previous 10 days were not wonderful, nor refreshing, nor cool. Ten days of 40ºC+ degrees, Tues, Weds & Thurs were actually 43ºC (110ºF). My heat rash is in full boom, if my garden had bloomed this well, I would have been a happy camper.

Friday, I decided to use the meat I had stored up. 5 o’clock BBQ at the botequim, lots of beer. So I happily BBQed until 9pm, or so… It was too hot to go to work, so I rang my student and invited him to participate in an extracurricular class discussing the merits of cuts of meat and the vocabulary involved with burning the stuff. As he lives nearby, he was chuffed. Much better than the sterile environment of a classroom, and of course, there was beer.

Saturday I woke to find a polar bear in the living room. It wasn’t really, I was so sleepy that I had stumbled over Lixo lying in the middle of the floor as cats are want to do. But I knew the ominous sign, the mere thought of polar bears meant the fridge needed defrosting. It did. It left me in the middle of a hot day with no cold drinks and no ice cubes. Sometimes things just don’t work out as planned.

You may have been wondering why the typewriter up there. Well, I had one of those. It was given to me as a Christmas present when I was twelve, and it is the reason why I can find my way around the keyboard with reasonable dexterity despite using only two fingers. My hunt & peck is more like a know-where-it-is & stab!


I saw a post today entitled ‘Bedposts’. I was intrigued enough to read it thinking, probably as you are, about the upright portions of a bed. I was fooled, as you will be.

The post was about posts that one writes on ones laptop while languishing in ones bed on a Saturday and Sunday morning.

The English language continues to evolve.

I look at the clock and see that it is time for lunch… to be finished.

So, I should toddle off and see what is left in the fridge that one might consider edible. It’s not going to be healthy, it is going to be quick… because I am suddenly peckish. Stupid American spell checker tells me that ‘peckish’ isn’t a word.


I should get the chance to add a Sunday Travel Tales today.