I'm sitting here playing tag with what feels like a gazillion flies. They keep swarming me, buzzing my head in tandem as I furiously try and tag them with a rolled up copy of The Economist. I have a feeling I look a little bit like Jerry Lewis as I fling my arms in every direction.
The flies are particularly bad this week since the cows are back in the field next to ours. This means that Typhon's morning chanting has been replaced by the subtile lowing of about 2-3 Limousine. Makes a nice change, although I do think Typhon is slightly more in time with the Evangelis, but at 7am, before my mandatory 13 cups of coffee, I'm not going to pick a fight with a rhythmically challenged cow.
Today should be interesting in that I'm waiting yet again for the roofers to show up. It's the third monday in a row that they have said they will show up and start working. At this point, I'm not sure that they really exist, but I'm going to have to have faith, I guess. That or a lot of buckets.
So there you have it, I'll be spending the morning killing flies with my own aggressive version of Thai Chi as I get progressively more juiced up on coffee waiting for a roofing company named Godot.
Embrace your inner surrealist, everyone. This could be a good week.