Back come those Itchy Feet

Inside, me, sat, in a house.

Outside, the camper, sat on the drive.

The sun is shining.

We should be in France, in Spain, in Portugal.

But we're sat here, in the house.

And the camper is sat, on the drive.

Nothing happens - or does it?

I've been reading a blogging book. It tells me I should have a reason for blogging. Mm...

I was forceably retired nearly a year ago now. Nothing to do with my age, though I do own a bus pass. The company I was employed with writhed and struggled and gave a death throe last November.

I took that as a hint I should relax and let life go by.

Trouble is that is EXACTLY what life does if you're not careful. It passes like those fake backgrounds that used to rush past when you went on Santa's train as a small child (remember those?).

Santa's little helpers probably use some kind of virtual reality gadgets now to whisk you to Santa's Lapland.

Come to think of it, I guess that's not on the agenda now either. I imagine there is a fixed distance at which a child must sit from Santa, and certainly a lap would be out of bounds.

I digress, as usual. I'm known for butterflying.

And so I have, all year. I've decorated, walked, gardened, computed, read, socialised, camped, cooked and more and had a short term craze on each passing passion. I've multi-tasked to a ridiculous level - ever tried cooking a full roast dinner for six while stripping paint on a cupboard at the other side of the kitchen AND kept up a relaxed (ha-ha) conversation with the guests who have arrived early?

Yet, the other day, I caught myself thinking I was bored. Bored. BORED.

I'd toyed with the idea of blogging but what the hell about? After all, nothing ever happens in my life.

By the end of that average day I had raged at an insurance company, volunteered to work in a charity shop, sat next to the nutter on the bus, burnt the dinner and stubbed my toes on the edge of our bed (AGAIN)

So just maybe the world want to share these things with me? We'll see.......