As I was running earlier this week I encountered several good burghers of the People's Republic of Four Oaks walking out onto their drives and fatalistically lifting the lids of their bins and thereupon raising their eyebrows in mild unexpected pleasure at the fact that the bloody things had actually all been emptied. For us (and I assume most of my near neighbours) this prompt double satisfaction (we have two bins - one for general detritus and one for recyclables) was being enjoyed for the first time since early December. All collections since that time have fallen victim to delay or cancellation due either to industrial action or plain old-fashioned inefficiency.
All of which made me smile sardonically as I contemplated our Council Tax bill which is knocking on three thousand of your English quids. I'm only saying.
Meanwhile our political class continues to bend itself out of any useful shape as it persists in its preferred intention of thwarting Brexit. And if any of these prize wankers mentions a wealth tax or a mansion tax (yes I'm talking to you Vince Cable) then I won't be responsible for my actions. Well actually I will be responsible - because I'm rather Olde England about these things. I'm only saying.
Meanwhile, back in my world, Grand National tomorrow. I'm due a change of luck (have been for about a decade) so take note folks - Vintage Clouds each way. I'm only saying.
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