Nothing to say…

I knew this day would come - the day that I had nothing at all to say and nothing to write about in this blog. I’ve wracked my brains for something to write about, but I’ve drawn a blank.

I suppose I could write about the snow that we had yesterday, but hasn’t that been done to death on the TV and Radio? Whilst we are on the subject though, I did hear someone say ‘snow in February, I can’t believe it!’ Snow in February – is that unusual then? Isn’t February mid-winter? I guess if you are under twenty-five (as this person was) then February is the start of Spring – but in my mind it is still the bleak mid-winter. Yes, the seasons are changing, but climate change has yet to affect my memories of Christmas card childhood winters, and I’m continually surprised that I don’t see hoards of small boys in greatcoats, scarves, fingerless gloves, and grey full-face balaclavas trudging their way to school through drifts of snow, hiding around corners, ready to ambush the postman with a couple of well-made snowballs. Sorry, I forgot that the post doesn’t arrive until mid afternoon these days…and while we are about it - can anyone tell me when breath stopped steaming in winter?

No, nothing much to write about there - I’ll give the ‘unseasonable’ fall of snow a miss I think, although there is a bit of a Manchester mystery surrounding the snow. The snow in Manchester was reasonably heavy yesterday and when I went to bed last night our road was a wonderful winter world of white and it was freezing cold, minus one at least. When I went out to the car this morning all of the snow had gone, it was still freezing - zero degrees – but there wasn’t a single flake to be seen. Where had it all gone? I don’t think it warmed up sufficiently in the night for it to thaw, and it was too cold to rain, so what caused all that snow to disappear? Did someone steal it? It’s a puzzle. Perhaps the snow fairy came along and took it all back.

How about a recipe? I’ve tried that a couple of times in the ‘bloody blog’ (as it has become known in my house), and when all else fails that usually works. The problem is that I had gammon for my meal last night, and whilst it was delicious, it’s pretty hard to make an interesting recipe around a piece of gammon. Its particularly difficult when simply served with a fried egg and chips, just the way I like it, and just the stuff to keep you cosy whilst the freak blizzards rage outside. It might be worth mentioning the egg though. The egg (eggs actually, I had two. Yes, I know…cholesterol) was particularly good having been laid by one of the hens my daughter keeps at the ‘Welsh Farmer up the lanes’ farm in Wales. She raised her hens from eggs in an incubator and they scratch around the farmyard eating whatever they can find (worms, seeds, nuts – the odd dead mouse or two), so they are truly happy eggs. Then again - maybe not - how much can you actually say about an egg? It has a white shell, it is egg shaped, it cracks if you drop it, (Which is correct? ‘The yolk of an egg is white’ or ‘the yolk of an egg are white’? Answers on a postcard, or leave a comment.) Not exactly gripping stuff is it? , I suppose I could talk about tonight’s dinner - we are having roast lamb - and about the fact that it was my daughter’s pet until it was time for slaughter last November…but I may need that story for tomorrow unless things pick up.

So what about Misty? Should I write a quick episode of ‘What Cheshire cats do?’ Truth is that apart from having a rather nasty swelling on the side of her neck – which burst in the most horrible way, was treated, and is well on the way to getting better now - there isn’t much to say. Oh, she is going to the vets to get neutered on Thursday – thank God - she’s getting a little smelly. As you know, Misty is a Tom but despite that we all call her ‘she’, can’t stop. We started when we thought ‘she’ was, and now ‘she’ is, to all intents and purposes anyway, and more so on Thursday. I feel for the poor thing, but it has to be done.

Of course, I could mention that Misty went missing again one morning last week. I couldn’t find her anywhere in the kitchen (where she now sleeps resplendent on her splendid ‘hanging radiator cat bed’, or should that be ‘hanging cat radiator bed’? It was a Christmas present from my Mother-in-law - I got socks (again) in case you were wondering) - I did the usual round of hidey-holes but couldn’t find her…here we go again I thought. I was just a about to get out my lump hammer and start smashing through the walls when I heard a meow from above, ‘not the ceiling this time’ I thought…and the next minute a flying cat landed on my back, digging her claws into my spine as she did so. Misty had been sitting on top of the wall units. God knows how she had got up there, but she must have lost her bottle, and it wasn’t until I appeared, providing her with a handy landing pad, that she worked up the nerve to jump down. The damage to my spinal column shouldn’t be permanent – although it is unlikely now that my skateboarding career will progress to competition level after all.

What else? Oh yes, and Gaynor has taught her to shake a paw – yes I know, cats don’t do tricks.

So there you have it, absolutely nothing to write about, no blog today - I knew this day would come. If only the snow, last night’s tea, or the cat had been worthy of writing about, oh well, c’est la vie - apologies, I’ll try to do better tomorrow, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up if I were you.