The most important invention in my lifetime was obviously the wheel. I remember it well, rolling the car about on tree trunks was a pain, every time the trunk revolved to a point where there was a bit of branch sticking out you’d be stuck and have to call the AA ( Arboreal Association) Also because the trunks had no axles, one would have keep moving the trucks from the rear of the car, to feed them back in at the front. One would also have to carry a supply of tapered trunks so one could negotiate roundabouts. Fire had been invented a couple of years before I was born, so at least at the end of a long journey the logs would be worn sufficiently to enable one the sell them as matchsticks, then one would have to start all over again for the return journey. A little known fact, this is where the term log book came from.

Nonsense is how I have to deal with the world sometimes. Today has just been one of those days of mixed emotions, first our proposed heat pump is all go, then more red tape and we are left in limbo again. But on the other hand my little book is finally at the printing stage, and we already have pre-orders for about thirty. Plus I also absolutely thrashed my mate at chess today. He’s a sore loser, and has come up with petty excuses of course.

It’s rained now for at least thirty day and thirty nights, so I have dragged an apt repeat out of the ark-hive. Inspired by Bob Dylan’s “Everything is Broken” as indeed it is.

RAINY DAY BLUES.

Sodden streets, sodden roads,
Everywhere covered in frogs and toads
Sodden roofs, sodden logs,
Everywhere the smell of sodden dogs,
Sodden shoes, brollies broken,
Everything is sodden.

Sodden clothes, sodden hair,
Sodden right through to your underwear,
Sodden carpets, sodden beds,
Gets in ones ears and fills ones heads,
Woodwork soaked and going rotten,
Everything is sodden.

Sodden busses, sodden trains,
All this wet causing aches and pains,
Sodden Lorry’s sodden trucks,
Can’t get about for sodden ducks,
Sodden carpets and seats in cars,
Even water in ladies bras.

Sodden moss in pipes and gutters,
My chimney so wet my fire it sputters,
Sodden ant hills full of sodden ants,
I’m wet though to my under pants.
Sodden clouds throwing down sodding rain,
If it doesn’t stop soon I’ll go Insane.

Sodden chips and sodden pies,
Runs off your forehead into your eyes.
Got webbed feet, and growing gills,
Water rising above my window sills,
Dry land almost now forgotten,
Everything is sodden.

Sodden vests and camisoles,
Feet so wet I’ve got gammy soles,
Sodden hedgehogs, sodden bats,
Must go now to wring out the cat,
Climate change and all that’s modern,
Everything is sodden.

All words Meadowhead Bard.