smokingboot

'No ye cannae shove yer granny aff a bus! ('Push, push!')*
No ye cannae shove yer granny aff a bus! ('Push, push!')
No ye cannae shove yer granny
Cos she's yer mammy's mammy
No ye cannae shove yer granny aff a bus!

Ye can shove yer ither granny aff a bus! ('Push, push!')
Ye can shove yer ither granny aff a bus! ('Push, push!')
Ye can shove yer ither granny
Cos she's yer daddy's mammy
Ye can shove yer ither granny aff a bus!'

*To be whispered, with gestures.

I like to imagine some benighted daughter-in-law quoting this at her children in a moment of exasperated revenge. As it was, it joined the rest of the nonsense of the ceilidh in a room full of people laughing and dancing.

Cures what ails you doesn't it?

I can't do these reels and the like, but R can. Even if he doesn't know the steps, he learns them fast, and keeps them in his head. He was wonderful, smiling at me even if we both know I would need L and R tattooed on my hands to even attempt Strictly. In fact, he nearly penned them under my thumbs last night. It's not that I don't know my left and right, but it isn't automatic knowledge for me, I need a couple of seconds to think about it. And then I forget basic things like stepping forward at the start of the dance, only to remember it just as we move onto the next thing, twirling or whatever. I tire fast but not as quickly as before. That's a cheering thought!

Some mates told us they are selling up their place in Malta and encourage us to use it before it goes. I need to check out more megalithic temples and return to the Hypogeum, so that would be great, life and pleasure flooding back towards me!

Worry has its power but music trumps it every time. I woke too late to see the sunrise today, but haven't slept so well in ages.