The storm looks like it's building from the south-west - means rain at last. Also no fire tonight just when Granny feels they might want one - south west wind means the stove smokes impossibly - choke choke choke, no thanks. Also, once it starts raining the satellite is wiped out so no telly - she minds less about that. Storm coming, rain coming - AT LAST - all over the Canaries is GOOD. She just hopes though it's all over by Friday. Friday she is off on her rave-up, otherwise known at WOMAD over on Gran Canaria - she went to the English version once and adored it, so here she is again. Glad as she is of the wet stuff, she is not entirely keen on reproducing the Glasto experience, with Canarian mud substituting for Somerset. But at least she isn't having to camp.
The goat is off having a happy time with her billy, in case you were asking. Beloved does seem to have judged his timing right. And, on Friday, on the roundabout at the edge of the town, a small electronic box appeared. Today it is accompanied by a long black pole with something bulky at the bottom wrapped in black plastic. Perhaps there is going to be something large and interesting after all. But what? Granny's breath is baited - whatever that means exactly. She is not entirely sure. Never mind. You all know what she means. Let's wait and see.