Darts in the Blacksmith's Arms

Lorraine lying low with a chesty cold, although rallied magnificently to prepare a gorgeous vegetable lasagne. 

I went to the pharmacy to collect Pat's medications. They are hopelessly disorganised and I had to wait an hour for them to be ready. Told to sit on the wall outside for 15 minutes (this is after having queued for 20 mins already, and that someone would come out to let us know it was ready. Chatted to two people who were in the same boat... Turns out that they did not come out to call us, and that the names of the prescription were simply muttered behind the counter. When I barged in with the woman I had been talking to half an hour or so later, they were still not ready. Okay for me because I had nothing else to do, but I pity the poor old folk who are treated like this. Then to the post office where a bloke was telling the owners about secret shoppers who were doing the rounds asking which was the cheapest packet of fags. I finally made the woman there smile, when I asked her husband what their cheapest cigarettes were as I was paying for some milk.

Utterly fixated by the unfolding drama of Liz Truss's administration falling apart, and the sacking of KamiKwazi her chancellor -- flying back from New York to be sacked for doing exactly what she asked him to do. It was plain that this woman -- whose chief achievement, has been a kind of Margaret Thatcher cosplay on instagram -- was unfit to lead this country. She is just the latest manifestation of a rotten Tory government should have been in the dustbin of history years ago. She gave a catastrophic press conference later in the day, where she literally ran out of the room after four questions. She was about six miles out of her depth.  Momentarily, I ALMOST felt sorry for her, but then I remembered her arrogance, refusal to take advice, and the fact that she has driven millions of people towards poverty. 

In the evening I went off to the Blacksmith's Arms with Pat. Lorraine drove Pat and I plus Pat's pals Andy and Sean really nice guys in their early fifties, who are very considerate of Pat. I was always okay at darts, but something has happened and I missed the board completely quite often. I laughed it off, of course, but I was surprised at just how bad I was. Pat however, in his 89th year, still throws an elegant and accurate dart. It is the highlight of his week being there, and he was adamant he should be going despite having a cough.

We were joined by John, a roofer who was very deaf, and couldn't hear a word I said however hard I bellowed at him. I think my voice has a pitch that is difficult to pick up. Andy and Sean, however, were really lovely thoughtful, interesting blokes.

Here are a couple of snaps of the master in action... and talking to his mate John.