Not only was today sunny and lovely, but it was also productive.
Good things: filled in census form online with nary a hiccup (possibly because at least half the population were still asleep having forgotten to change their clocks, or because like me, they harboured suspicions that the site wouldn't work), did lots of gardening, had a whiffle around Hatfield Forest, had an ice cream, had a lovely Skype phone chat with my friend Yolande
Not altogether great things: Gremlins in the Skype system meant that Yolande sometimes sounded like an alien but at least we understood each other
Just as I was being amused by the incident in 'The Ascent of Rum Doodle' in which the climbing party are faced with 30,000 porters instead of the 3,000 they wanted (explanation: 'the Yogistani word for three was identical with the word for thirty, except for a sort of snort in the middle. It was, of course, impossible to convey this snort by telegram, and the Bang had chosen to interpret the message as ordering 30,000 porters.) it seems I was also making a foolish error. Even as I type, Mr Halford is cheerfully applying for my entry into 'the Bishop's Stortford 10', which I had assumed was a 10k run. It turns out it is 10 miles. TEN MILES. No wonder he was surprised I agreed to it.
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