Is the world as we know coming to an end? Is the financial meltdown a terrorist plot? What can the young, inexperienced Obama do about it? What can the old, inexperienced McCain do about it? McCain is my age, and I think he is over the hill, unless he is taking memory pills so that he can remember what he said this morning. If asked to vote, I would go for the young guy. Doesn't he remind you of Jack Kennedy?
So I will withdraw my savings and keep the cash in a sock under the mattress until we find out what the world's greatest brains can suggest to sort things out. When things got difficult in the 17th Century, Sam Pepys buried his money - plus a Parmesan cheese - in his garden.
Dietary notes now. I am starting to eat more (STOP PRESS - Old Woody is eating more!), because my general tiredness may be to do with being hungry (though I am told that it is a side effect of my hormone implant). Baked beans on toast and a banana for lunch! Apple pie after my supper! And my supper menus for the week include fish and chips, duck breast boulangère, bangers and mash, a spatchcocked chicken, and a stew made with its remains. All followed by homemade apple pie.
And I am obliged to eat lots of tomatoes, since there are lots of ripe ones on the terrace.
There, I feel better already.
The Equinox has brought chilly, gloomy mornings, and wind. It is depressing to think that it will be nearly six months before I can drive up to the golf club each morning without the car lights on.
I'm off to sunny (I hope) Spain next Saturday for a golf holiday. Certain persons think that I'm on permanent holiday, but the difference is that I don't have to lift a finger for a week. No cooking, no shopping, no driving. Sounds good; is good.
Nobody asked me to, but I am now going to state my choice of the greatest folk/pop/rock singer/songwriter of the last forty years. It is Bob Dylan. Nobody can come close except my No. 2, Springsteen. Tunesters like McCartney are OK, and there are lots of boring people like that Canadian bloke who lay claim to being quite good, but for sheer breadth of scope, Bob's my man. That's enough of that.
In our usual confused way, in Britain distances are measured in miles, while petrol is sold in litres. So you have to do conversions to arrive at mpg or l/100km. But I filled the tank today for £50, and have done 36mpg (7.7litres per 100km - the old VW Minibus used to do 14.1 litres per 100km).
No more utterly useless information. I'm going to pan-fry a piece of cod, fry some spuds, and wash it down with a nice sharp Kiwi sauvignon. And I have time to make an apple pie. It's all go in this house when it comes to food.
