Purveyor of Tall Tales.

Gurn with the wind

“If the wind changes your face will stay like that,” said G to me from across the table.

My Gurn is an improvement, many would say, but one that merely left the waitress who was passing at the time bemused and thinking it was time to stop serving me Coronas.

It’s funny the lies we tell children to illicit the behaviour we want. I can still recall my mother telling me if I rolled my eyes up to show all the white that they would carry on all the way round till I was looking at my brain. Once there they would be stuck, unable to be rolled back even by the doctor or so the story went.

I was seventeen when I figured out that was a work…

Another particular favourite is one of a friend of G’s of how she was told the music of the Ice Cream Van was the signal that the Ice Cream Van Man was out of Ice Creams.

But I digress.

We were in BlackHeath, my second favourite place south of the river, to have dinner to celebrate the start of our holiday and generally relax. We ate at the Cactus Pit (very friendly and fun) and I gorged myself on Tex Mex until G had to roll me down the hill to the car.

If you live in London (especially south of the river) and you’ve never been to Blackheath: do so. It’s especially good if you like your food as much as I do.

Sitting now in the garden (the joys of wireless) having enjoyed a full ten and a half hours of sleep, quite enjoying the sensation of not having my eyes feel like sandpaper, as I try to figure out what else to do with my week – besides write, that’s a given – starting with tomorrow as it’s my birthday.

That’s all folks, for now, thinking is taking a lot of effort today

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