… a suck-egg mule”, as the legendary Arthur Hunnicutt said to John Wayne, Robert Mitchum and James Caan in the magnificent El Dorado.

As you all know by now, I used to work for a major pan-National organisation and I used to keep my finger on the pulse of what was going on.

As many of my former “workmates” are constantly in the news and as I know their fashion of thinking, I can usually have a pretty shrewd guess of which way the wind is going to blow.

Many of my predictions on these pages (although not all of them, I have to say) have been proved right and have truly come to pass.

And as you know, I’m going back through my blog right to the very beginning in order to tidy it up, and I discovered that back on January 1st I had made the prediction that you see about three quarters of the way down this page.

What price my predictions now, heh?

Anyway, I’m glad that I had to get up and go to ride the porcelain horse this morning, otherwise I would still be in bed even now.

Mind you, 10:45 am is a decent time to heave myself out of my stinking pit. However, I haven’t done a tap today, except to work on bringing another few early pages of my blog up to current standards and to correct the shortcomings in the importation.

I have however had to amend yesterday’s blog entry.

Annie, who lurks in the background, finally burst into the public eye today (hello, Annie!) to point out that Edith Cavell is actually buried at Norwich Cathedral. Yes, it was only the funeral service that took place at Westminster Abbey.

And so for tea, I had the usual Sunday offering of pizza and garlic bread, followed by humble pie for dessert (and we aren’t talking about Steve Marriott and Peter Frampton either).

In other news, Cécile and her mum might be coming to visit.

There’s tons of small stuff littering the apartment that is too time-consuming to sell and much too good to throw away.

It’s basically free to anyone who wants to come here and pick it up as long as they give me a hand to move stuff and load Caliburn with what’s coming back to the Auvergne.

Cécile’s mum has never been to Brussels and so it seems like a good idea for them to come, take away what they want, and give me a little hand too.

And in other other news, last night’s dream has mostly flowed away out of my memory but I do remember someone stealing the washing machine in mid-wash with all my clothes in it.

That prompted me this afternoon to have a shower and do a machine load of washing. That needs to be up-to-date too if people are coming.