The day after tomorrow – today……

Weird weather or what?

Thursday saw one hell of a storm and the entire contents of the Northern Atlantic being dumped on our little area of Lancashire. Alfie had not dressed for the occasion. Seeing that it was the second day of our Summer, (the first day was in early June), Alfie forgot to prepare for the inevitable thunder storm that marks the beginning of Autumn.

Alfie, looking rather sharp in his baggy shorts, summer shirt, open toed Jesus boots and shades a go-go, cuts a fine figure in a rotundly roundabout sort of way, as he sachets and saunters down the high street.

Unfortunately, Alfie was doing his sauntering with his back to the impending Tempest fast advancing from the west.

Hot ‘n sunny became wet ‘n wetter as ‘Hurricane WTFDTCF’ did its worst. Pretty soon, the street became the Amazon. Hot hatches became stationary, steaming, hulking wrecks – as suicidal boy racers flooded their engines as they cut pretty arcs of H2O to give soggy pedestrians a sewer shower.

I’m so wet, my man tits are showing through my sodden shirt. I’m so wet, hermit crabs are setting up home in between my toes and I’m growing gills. Water cascades up through the overwhelmed grids. Some saddo starts plonking sandbags outside his front door – where did he get them from? He’s probably got a nuclear bunker in his back garden – just behind the rockery, just in case. I hate those ‘prepared guys’ don’t you?

Was the world coming to an end or what?

Fortunately not – for Friday dawned hot, humid & humid some more with added humidity just for good measure – and guess what, I’ve got to visit a chocolate factory.

Alfie, ably assisted by his work pal Phil, arrives at the chocolate factory for an important job. It’s as hot as hell in there.

We are inducted into ‘choccy world’ – this means donning an overall made for someone a bit short in the arms department and a crotch about a foot from the floor. A rather voluminously natty hairnet is plonked on the OK barnet - plus a ‘beard net’ – It’s like a little dolly hammock and fits around your ears – it’s an elegance bypass. The look is complete – if I wanted to look a complete and utter arse. Phil has a digital camera with him. He takes note of the threat to his sphincteral cavity and the final resting place of the camera if he takes a picture of me. We limp round, crotch-crippled and crusty, with the smell of chocolate oozing out of our pores.

Saturday – fan-bloody-tastic day.
Sun, light, brilliance… just brilliant.
The sort of day that’s so bloody good you just wish you’d actually built that Eazzy-build Bar-B-Q kit that’s been kicking around the shed for God knows how long….

"Awwww Dad, can we have a Bar-B-Q today?"

"No"

"Why not – after all, you’ve got that ‘Eazzy-build Bar-B-Q kit?"

"Coz it’s not that easy"…..

Sunday – Windy.
As windy (but not as smelly) as the aftermath of a baked bean eating contest. But it’s still hot. That wind feels like its come straight out of an oven. Seeing that Alfred Towers has just invested in a rather stylish outdoor table and chairs set, Alfie thought it would be a chic and cosmopolitan idea to partake his toast and tea in the garden. He also took out The Sunday Times to complete the picture of urbane sophistication.

The Sunday Times, being a broadsheet does in fact catch the wind as well as any kite. I’m sure it was a very interesting read, I wonder where it is now?