the other side of summer

I could be wrong this feels like summer. The sound of leather on willow at the weekend. A jaunty treasure hunt round the village in the evening. Chelsea on the telly. Play-offs coming up. Wimbledon round the corner. Also, I slept not a wink due to having a somewhat demented nurse stabbing me viciously in both arms yesterday with all manner of tropical diseases in miniature. Not only was I reeling due to the nanobot style fevers racing around my brain but I couldn't turn over at all due to my swollen arms. I felt like Fatima Whitbread. Not a peep out of the kids after thir jabs, mind. It must be my age.

Anyway, the treasure hunt went quite well. A tootle round the village and through a load of fields. We were told it was buggy friendly by someone who's obviously never had to heft one over a five foot stile with a sleeping infant on board and then chug it through three acres of oil seed rape along the ruttiest of tracks. Still, we made the most of it, counting windows, reading numbers off grids, collecting feathers and syringes etc. We had to find out the number of a busroute from a particular bus-stop. The bus-stop had however been shunted about a hundred yards down the road since the quiz was set due to a boy racer in a Vauxhall Nova levelling it and his car last week. Had it not been for the weight of the sub-woofer in the boot, they say he might have gone into orbit.