Over Andover

Today, I went to Andover for a meeting (yes, I do leave this cobwebby attic from time to time) and, my dear friends, you will rally around with rose petals in water and all manner of other gentle massagey things when I reveal that it was the second time this week I had had to rise before 9.30am!

Still, it was good to see a lot of jolly old chums from around the region but not so good to listen to one or two people’s inane whingeing about all of the problems they were going to encounter if blah blah blah blah blah instead of using the time spent whingeing about blah blah blah blah blah trying to think of ways that they might be able to prepare for blah blah blah blah blah thus lessening its impact. Oh well, I’m glad I’m out of it and genuinely feel sorry for those who may not be able to cope with blah blah blah blah blah through no fault of their own.

We had lunch at a pub called the Hungry Horse that served all-day breakfasts on huge oval plates about two feet across. There were five of us sitting at a small round table and Mike had to move because, as his meal had been served up after everyone else’s, there was no room for his plate on our table! I think the table he moved to was designed for children but the chairs were for adults and it may be that I have witnessed the first reported case of a Chicken Caesar Salad causing a spinal disorder.