I mean, I have to get up but not quite this early. So I've been browsing.
According to maryb in Atlanta, Scarlett O'Hara country, the New York Times has published an article about why ice is slippery. There's scientific debate about it apparently. I bet someone is getting funded to work it out. I wonder if I could get a grant to find out why pigs can't fly.
Maryb also talks about her mother's favourite sayings. It reminded me of my great-aunt. Auntie Vi was president of the local WI, had been to garden parties at Buckingham Palace, had a hat for every occasion and could swear like a Townhill teenager. (I'm sure Mumbles teenagers are just the same, it's just that TT flows better.) If someone annoyed her, she would say, 'Kiss my arse Tom Chalk.'
I never found out who Tom Chalk was. But there was another story about my great-grandfather and a fellow-builder name of Sparrow. He must have upset my great-grandad because, one day, when Mr Sparrow was up on a ledge, my great-grandad took away his ladder, saying, 'Now fly, you bugger!'
I'm from good stock.
And now the time is 8.15, which doesn't sound very early but the internet broke down in the middle so I've been and showered in between starting and finishing this post, which began at 7.25 am.
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