Alas poor Elvis, I knew him well

Word at the pub that Elvis the cockerel has met Untimely End. His brief sojourn in the car-park is over, and his erstwhile owner Bob the Farmer is being tight-lipped on subject. We who live in close proximity to pub are in mourning. He was an indefatigable crower, and the silence is, well, silent.
Is sad.

Geoff, the chap who spends every waking moment building massive extension and other embellishments to his property, pitched up at pub last night on bicycle, with male friend (also on bicycle) in tow. Geoff's house, jocularly known as Geoff's Folly, is a Work In Progress, as I have mentioned in previous blog. It is His Life's Work, and there are many jokes about parapets, flying buttresses, ramparts etc. Last night he announced intention of incorporating gargoyle at gable end, fashioned to resemble our favourite grumpy barmaid, the wonderfully cantankerous Elaine. I am sure she will be delighted. After imbibing several pints, Geoff and friend donned caps with torches on elastic round them, and in delightfully eccentric Heath Robinson mode ,wobbled off into the night. They were splendidly lit at the front, but had no rear lights whatsoever. I can only hope they made it home safely down the unlit, meandering country roads.

Just have to mention have scored small victory over Two in matter of Should Bananas be Kept in Fridge. Two argued that bananas are shipped in refrigerated containers and should therefore be Fine In Fridge. I demurred. He insisted. Next day he admitted sheepishly They Had Gone Black.
I rest my case as they say.

Only other item of mild interest, we have new loo seat. Old one was perilously unstable.
Is not wildly important in Great Scheme of Things, but a comfort nevertheless, as have no wish to be catapaulted off loo, hit head on bath, and suffer mild concussion.