Cross Words on a Sunday.

Culture section getting too small for you? It is reflecting reality.

Just wait ’til the Crossword starts giving suras as clues.

Here in Smalltown we are trying to avoid the 9:30 stampede of people past our door to the CofE Cathedral followed by the 10:30 stampede by the Catholics. Nothing stops them – not least a bit of snow! Clearly the hot air generated in these places serves to keep them toasty warm.

Naturally, only the upper crust of Smalltown society is permitted the Sunday Times crossword. The majority of us are begrudgingly permitted the Telegraph which is much more suited to our moderate intelligences. Of course, we have do many carrot crunchers who recently have been much cheered by the emergence of the Sun on Sunday and sit with their mug of tea whilst comtemplating the wonders of page three. Scanning as far as page five of the NOTW was clearly beyond them.

Here today the snow lays not deep and even but more mottled and drifted. Something is currently beginning to flutter out of the sky but whether that is a flurry of snow or merely a smattering of distain from the Town Society is debatable.

Enjoy your tea and toast. Here a freshly brewed Nespresso and a chocolate Hob Nob is a more acceptable alternative. Tea – especially Yorkshire Tea – is just so common!

How poignant!
A proper Sunday should start with me getting up early, and then opening the back door to let in Cat (he has his own palatial cat house outside for the evening, insulated and filled with straw, so worry not about the cold – and he likes to be free to meet his ladies of the night!). Cat must then be fed – twice if he has been busy shagging!
With my chores as a “domestique” for Cat over, I am free to make myself a cup of coffee in the little perculator, and put some sausages on the halogen grill.
I can then snuggle in my small and untidy study and turn on the some gentle music on Spotify. I will of course peek at recent goings on here at Chez Raccoon.
At about 8.30 am comes the reassuring sound of shoving and then a thud as The Sunday Times comes through the letter box. Another coffee on the go, and time to review the week’s events. By 9.00 pm I will be convinced that Britain, Europe and the World are going to Hell in a handcart. As if I did not know that already…
And time for another coffee.
Sunday morning is a sacred place and time. It is perhaps the defining quality of Western civilization. We should preserve it, and enhance it.
Sadly, the prurient headlines of “Bonking” and “Romps” that were the hall mark of the News of the Screws seem less frequent these days. What fun they were, to to accompany my second breakfast of a bacon sandwich! How shocked and appalled would I be at these monstrous indiscretions! How could anyone do, and then recount these shameless antics!
And thence to Church, for Sunday prayers….

What will we be doing ? Well here on the Portuguese west coast at 9.00 pm Friday night a great storm blew out of the west. As one expects at 11.00pm the electricity failed, but replete with candles, also a blazing log fire we were content going to bed happily after a few warming slurps, as Keith Floyd would have it listening to the howls of wind and lashing rain. Awoken at 06.30hrs for a wee, noticing regular flashes but no sound was puzzled. 0900hrs arose to whistling & howling wind, not in the least abated, rather worse, still sheeting rain. Across the road a large John Deere tractor was facing into the storm pushing the trees on the edge of the road back onto that land while traffic was queued up both up and down the highway. Portuguese EDP Electricity men in yellow waterproofs were protecting themselves with an arm held high against the storm while trying to read information from a large metal casing beneath a transformer at the base of a concrete tower. Presently they all left for other work. We still had no electricity. Then I realised, we could not access the car or log store as all was underground in the ” cave” as it is know locally , underground garage and store to us. This was because access is via an electric shutter door from the ground floor. An alternative is via a door from the rear garden into the workshop or the garage doors. Both have double locking devises.
By six at night we had burnt our last log, desperation plus the second bottle of red led me to go outside and down to the rear with metal objects and break the glass in the workshop door, extract the key from the inside lock and hey presto, open up. Still could not open the electric door so had to load logs up the outside back way.
It was quite an experience, no TV, no lighting, blazing fire, candles, conversation and Gin Rummy.
At 0330hrs I was awoken by lights in the house. Electricity was available again. We had left switches on. I got up and wandered around dowsing them.
Dawn saw some wreckage. At least eight trees uprooted, besides two bottles of wine where formerly there were six.
The seafront was alarming with eight boats cast from their moorings up onto the beach and Cafes & restaurants pumping ,and I do mean pumping out their premises and clearing sand away.
According to “Wind Guru” we are due another dose on Tuesday. Must stock up with candles & ,oh yes, Wine.