Tempting The Fates

A few weeks ago CJ did a post on tempting the God of Data Transfer.  In fact when I tried to find the post I discovered that it was written in January.  January!  Where did the last seven - yes seven - months go.  I really did think it was just a few weeks ago.  Anyway the point about the post was that it is not wise to tempt the Gods.

Unfortunately I accidentally did something even worse a few days ago.

When Mum and Dad eventually gave up independent living and went to live with CJ and Jo they no longer needed their toaster.  That was about 15 years ago.  They had had the toaster for quite a while before that.  So the toaster was probably manufactured around 20 years ago.  A few days ago - it really was just within the last few days - I remarked on the longevity of the said toaster.  Big mistake.  Huge.  

For those who don't know The Fates are old and predate the gods. It is not entirely clear how far their power extends. It is possible that they determine the fate of the gods as well. In any case, not even the most powerful is willing to trifle with them.  So what was I thinking of when I, albeit inadvertently, tempted them?

So today The Toaster was consigned to the place where old toasters go and the new pretender arrived.  Tomorrow it is he who will provide our breakfast*.

What's the betting that I won't still have this one in 20 years time?

*  This was actually written yesterday and posted after midnight.

Never Tempt the Moirai

On 19 January this year CJ aka Scriptor Senex posted on the god DataTransfer .  This proved to be his undoing as his computing world fell apart two days later and he posted Cannot (never mind 'Do Not') Resuscitate.  The moral, he concluded, was that it was unwise to tempt the gods.

Well I've been much more circumspect.  Most of my friends who believe in a god only believe in one whether they believe it to be one emanating from a Christian or Jewish or whatever belief.  However  I understand that Hindus believe in about 330 million gods or a similar number of aspects of a god or gods and the Greeks and Romans worshipped many hundreds of gods. (I've always been rather wary of the Chthonic deities if for no other reason than they are represented collectively by a word which is impossible to spell).  It's all rather confusing. 

Anyway I never mentioned a god in my post yesterday on the subject of midges.  But I didn't have to.  The Moirai or the Parcae or the Three Witches were obviously listening.

Tonight the midges are back.

Frances Garrood Talks to Her Horse

When she is not talking to her horse, Titch, or berating people (I know, I'm a victim) for their use or misuse of the English language Frances Garrood is, amongst many other things I'm sure, writing: books (see my post a few days ago about Dead Ernest) and her blog (pithily named Frances Garrood) and, doubtless plenty of other things too.  In my experience (of, amongst others, my brother CJ and my Mother) people who write spend as much time as they can doing it.  

This was actually not supposed to be about Frances but about summer and the weather.  However the words that prompted it were penned (actually they were more likely keyed) by Frances in the form of a poem which amused me very much indeed.  It was entitled A True Story:

Towards the end of every May
I put my winter boots away.
Knowing that summer's coming soon 
(And no-one wears their boots in June).

I get my sandals out instead
And paint my toenails cherry red
And wait for summer to resume.
(For I cannot wear my boots in June.)

Last night, the rain came down in buckets.
At last I flipped. And thought - oh, f*** it -
I'm hardly asking for the moon!
( I've put my boots back on. In June.)

That immediately made me think about the fact that on Friday down on the beach I was wearing a roll-neck sweater, fleece, quilted inner and windproof/waterproof Berghaus jacket.  It's June and it was 7 days away from Midsummer's Day!  Two weeks ago I was paining the fences round the house wearing shorts.  We haven't had any rain to speak of for weeks and I have the sprinklers going.  The South of England is flooded.  The world is topsy turvy.  Do Aurae, Anemi and Boreas not know that it's summer and that if anyone is out to play it should be Zephyrus.  Or are the wrong gods being called upon.  Are they too Greek to care about the Outer Hebrides?  Perhaps we should be calling upon Freyr the relevant Norse god.  He is, after all, nearer to hand.

But, hey ho, there is little I can do and in the circumstances I think that I shall just take a leaf out of Frances's book and put my winter clothes back on.