Hestia and..The Day Before The End of Days

Complete humour failure by end of note

The truly disturbed dedicated reader of m'blog will know that Frank is my music teacher.

Or should that be 'music' teacher?  Or even music 'teacher'?

Put it this way, my arrival for my weekly keyboard lesson warrants a frantic rolling of cigarettes and much deep puffing at the back door.  By the time I leave, he's practically inhaling all his tobacco before the roll-up papers are out of his pocket.

Aaaaannnnyway....

I want to be healthier so I had decided that I would be cycling to Frank's last Wednesday.

Tartarus had gone out for a lunch-time pint with a fellow merchant navy friend who was visiting him for the afternoon.  In my naivety (allows herself a hollow laugh) I had thought he might come home while I was out at my hourly lesson.

I announce in the note 'Gone to Frank's on BIKE!!' because I am GIDDY with excitement of doing something healthy and environmentally friendly.

I strap on my helmet and open the back door.  It is raining, but not horrifically.  I hurry to the outbuilding where my bike leans sadly against the wall.  I throw my leg over and excecute a bikely 57-point turn.  By the time I face the right way, the rain is coming down in sheets.  SHEETS.

Bugger this.

I run back to the house, let myself in, drop off my helmet, pick up my car key and adjust the note by scoring through the 'BIKE!!' and scribbling 'car!!!'

I rush to the garage and open the door......and am confronted by Tartarus's car at the front of the garage.  My mini is squashed up against the back wall.  I have never driven Tartarus's car and I'm not going to try it today.

Trailing clouds of profanity behind me like cigarette smoke, I lock up the garage, run back to the house, let myself in, pick up my helmet, drop off my car key and adjust the note.  I score through the word 'car!!!' and once again write Bike.  No exclamation marks.  I am no longer in a good mood.

And so I cycled to Frank's in the pissing rain.  A lone cyclist in streets full of cars.  Rain rolls off the front of my helmet in a continual waterfall, soaking the thighs of my jeans so that when I cycle, small bubbles are forced through the material.  People are pointing at me.  And no wonder.  They think I'm an imbecile.  So do I.

By the time I arrive at Frank's front door, the water is, literally, running off me.

He not only hands me a bath towel to dry myself on, but drapes a smaller one on the piano stool to make me more comfortable during my lesson.

'I thought you would have come by car today,' he offers.

I say nothing, but smile through gritted teeth.

When I get home, there is still no Tartarus.  Indeed there is no Tartarus until 5pm.

The following day is The End of Days.  My blogging is all out of synch.  I blame my hormones.

Note:  Tis now Monday and it has rained and rained and rained.  And it's now JULY!!

How's the weather where you are?