📅 Wednesday Musings, or Possibly Thursday in Disguise

 

I’ve always said Wednesday is a peculiar sort of day. Not quite beginning, not quite end. It just sort of loiters in the middle of the week like a confused uncle at a wedding buffet, picking at the cocktail sausages and asking if it’s too early for trifle.

This morning I woke to find that I’d put my slippers in the fridge (again), and a copy of The People’s Friend had mysteriously appeared under my pillow, open to a recipe for gooseberry fudge. I can only assume I’ve been sleep-reading again.

Breakfast was a boiled egg that exploded quietly in the pan and a slice of toast shaped like Ian McShane. I took it as a sign of... something. Possibly hunger.

The crows were behaving suspiciously down by the compost heap, forming what I can only describe as a quorum. I nodded politely and offered them a digestive. They declined, but not before rearranging the gravel into something that might have been a warning or a poorly spelled shopping list.

Anyway, I plan to spend the afternoon rearranging my drawer of miscellaneous batteries, then lying in a deckchair in the potting shed pretending to read something philosophical while actually watching the clouds and wondering if they’re judging me. (They are. But gently.)

If anyone needs me, I’ll be near the rhubarb, radiating mild wisdom and a faint smell of Deep Heat. Happy Wednesday, all. Try not to make any life decisions until at least Friday teatime.

Yours in plodding optimism,
Virgil Twobyfour
(Local Oracle, Intermittent Scone Taster, and Keeper of the Jam Jar Keys)