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Our butcher has been away for a new year break. Dismayed, I reported to the Thursday coffee morning team. "It's shut," I said. Greg, was he being perverse, said "Do you mean closed?"
I get this a lot, see later, "No it's shut."
Now I'm confused - my dictionary says:
1. CLOSED not open.
(of a society or system) not communicating with or influenced by others.
limited to certain people; not open or available to all.
unwilling to accept new ideas.
2. (of a business) having ceased trading, especially for a short period.
1. SHUT move (something)
into position so as to block an opening; close.
2. fold or bring together the sides of (something) so as to close it.
3. prevent access
4. stop talking
Clearly the butcher was closed, and I was incorrect.
He's back. Spain.
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So London's green elite are going to stop open-coal fires and wet log stoves. Good luck with that, especially up the top of Swaledale where they haven't seen a copper for years. A policeman's belt, full of stuff like tasers and nightsticks will now need a moisture meter.
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"I'll try and get some rugby on TV. Ah, no BT." I say.
"Try other channels." Says Dave.
"Yes, but rugby is on BT. Premiership anyway."
"What about BBC?"
"But rugby is on BT."
It needn't be this hard.
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Did anyone catch Ian Wright on Desert Island Discs? Entertaining, amusing and endearing. His choice from Shawshank was illuminating. I hear it as a freedom song - the inmates stood listening to music from out there, outside the walls. Sure it's pleasant to listen to, but for me it's the association with the film that gives it meaning. Most music doesn't move me on its own, pleasing though the tunes often are. Our memories are close to the listening and hearing cortex and music from the movies I have seen is a special trigger. The latest is Don't Let the Old Man In from The Mule which is also a plea to use your time remaining well. Events and places also do it: Myfanwy and Aberfan, You'll Never Walk Alone and Liverpool, Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau and Cardiff all produce big lumps in the throat. Our choir pieces don't produce emotional moments, except funerals and weddings. Venues can sometimes do it: The Town Hall on Remembrance Sunday, York Minster, The Menin Gate, Auschwitz.
So because of associations, I do get a lot out of music. Otherwise it's eight notes jostling for position, as the Morecambe Christmas quote has it, "I'm playing all the right notes, but not necessarily in the right order."
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Back to Big Dave, in Seahouses on our Northumberland trip. Super coffee house with loads of ideas for a morning snack. I wanted a fried egg sandwich.
"Don't you want a roll?"
"No, a fried egg sandwich. It says it here on the menu."
"But ....." I'm not sure what Dave said then but it was in support of a roll.
The food arrived, but my sandwich was not two slices of bread, nor was it a roll. It was a rollwich. Like bread from a loaf, but shaped like a bun - a big bun at that, more bread than egg.
I discarded the top half and mostly got what I asked for.
Maybe a roll would have been okay.
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The coast north of Newcastle is brilliant. Good weather helps. We've had five weekends to date, plus Whitley bay.
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There's another coffee episode on the way.
