June began with more hot weather, more politicians falling on their swords all over the place (including a whole shoal of them in just one day), and an aircraft carrying over 200 people vanished into thin air over the Atlantic ocean. The theory being put out was that it ran into a gigantic wall of thunderstorms. There was a tragic story of a lady whose husband had been on the doomed plane. On hearing the news of its disappearance she had rung his mobile … and it had rang. She pointed out (quite reasonably) that it wouldn’t have rung if the plane had been in the ocean at the time. But the next day fragments of aircraft were seen floating in the sea, and it would seem that everybody’s worst fears were confirmed.
I was supposed to be working on this day, but mindful that the weather might soon take a turn for the worst, I went out into the garden instead, and lay watching aeroplane contrails making patterns in the blue sky overhead. And having to listen to Kristy giving poor old Owen Maddock his instructions as regards several bags of compost which had just been delivered. Some things never change it would seem.
ANOTHER e-mail from the fat slob, who seemed to have clean forgotten his previous one about the imaginary bad weather. This was a diatribe against the GOOD weather.
“I GOT SUNBURN FROM HAVING TO WORK OUTSIDE [oh how the mighty have fallen, he’s having to do his own gardening], AND THEN FELT SICK AND FEVERISH. AM SICK OF HEARING MY CHAV NEIGHBOURS SCREAMING AND SHOUTING AT EACH OTHER ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT. ICE-CREAM VAN CHIMES ARE TOO LOUD. BARBY FLUID STINKS. ROLL ON OCTOBER”.
“I really must do some work today”, I said to Misty, unable to think of a reply to this message that wouldn’t do serious damage to my sanity.
“Do I have to do that heap of washing?” he said, plaintively.
“It’ll be a bigger heap tomorrow if you don’t”, I said.
Jason came into the house, clutching a couple of tabloid rags, one of which had a picture of the missing French plane on the front, and the headline ’THE NEW BERMUDA TRIANGLE’. Surprisingly, this wasn’t what he was excited about.
“Just read something on the Web”, he said “A guy’s just come back from his hols in the Lake District, and he said he woke up one morning, OUTSIDE his tent, with no clothes on and no idea how it happened”.
“The local beer must be good”, I said, (probably predictably).
“I knew I’d get one of your sarky remarks, Gray”, he said, good-naturedly (Jason is rarely anything other than good-natured, except when someone mentions politicians).
“But listen up”, he continued “He said he had a sore rectum!”
(Oh c’mon, I had to burst out laughing at that one!).
“He thinks he’s been anally probed”, he ploughed on.
“Well that’s a new way of putting it!” I said, by now feeling on the edge of helplessness.
“I knew there was no point trying to get you to take it seriously”, he said.
“Go and tell Xanthe”, I said “She might need some light relief after working for the Lib Dems lately”.
“Look at this before I go”, he said, holding out a copy of ’The Sun’ (also known as ’The Vile Arsewipe’ in our house).
“Do I have to?” I said. “Look at the UFO picture inside”, he ordered.
I turned to the appropriate page, and saw a photo of what looked like a row of small lampshades flying in formation over a street in Lincoln.
“Pretty impressive, eh?” he said.
“Yeah but Jason”, I said “C’mon now, it is ’The Sun’ for crying out loud!”
I know I say this each and every time, with monotonous regularity, but the Silly Season clearly has started early this year. But then again, I suppose it makes a change from hearing about bloody politicians.
My decision to vote Tory in the local and Euro elections seemed to be causing untold consternation in my near vicinity. So much so that you would have thought I had invited BNP leader Nick Griffin round for an intimate candlelit supper.
“But David Cameron’s an old Etonian”, Jason spluttered.
“You can’t hold it against the poor guy because of where he went to school!” I said “I wouldn’t want to be judged on where I went to school at my age!”
“And you’re gay”, he said.
“This is going to come as a shock to you I know, but some gays I’ve met over the years have had views a little to the right of Hitler!” I said, and then wished I hadn’t, as it seemed to imply that I too had views a little to the right of Hitler!
Feeling utterly defiant I put on a blue shirt and wended my jolly way to the polling station (Misty consistently refuses to vote. When I pointed out to him once that that deprived him of any right to comment on things, he just shrugged and said “fair enough”). The Lib Dem henchwomen were out in force outside the village hall, and gave me looks that could have withered a rattlesnake. By contrast, the Tory guy, looking dapper in a panama hat, wished me a cordial “good afternoon”. This effectively made up my mind even further for me. When I got into the booth though I added a vote for The Green Party, as a sort of sop to my conscience.
Back home once more, and it was clear that my voting aberration was going to be treated as some sort of highly embarrassing physical affliction, and Not To Be Mentioned If At All Possible.
“Another plane’s disappeared”, said Jason, dolefully.
“What?” I exclaimed “Another airbus?”
“No, a little put-put”, said Jason “One person on board. Disappeared on a flight from Cambridge to Lydd. No one can find any trace of it”.
“And an empty dinghy’s been found in the Channel as well”, said Misty.
“Blimey”, I said.