Signet Ring

I would say I could pinpoint the day that freedom died in this country was when you were no longer allowed to eat a hot steak and gravy pie whilst driving a transit.

I dont even know if that's true.

I wrote to Kenneth Mcaskill on another matter as I felt I ought to. Fair enough I got a prompt reply, although it could have been a stock answer from a flunkess, reminding me of something or other that I can read about any day of the week in the Courier. It was a figurative short wagging finger of a letter complete with a gold signet ring, but what's it doing on that finger?

I must be getting on a bit, my lassie was scribbling at something the other year and I says, what you up to?

She says, writing a list of presents i want for my birthday,

But surely sweetheart, it's only one thing for birthdays,

Oh dad, (patronisingly) that was in the olden days.

My oldest son's just back from his first foreign holiday with his pals in Crete still boasting about getting mugged.

Weather? as hot as Scotland.

I'm thinking about picking some meadowsweet next week.