WHISPERING SMITH: A week dodging iffy grub and a chatty duo

It poured with rain as soon as I arrived – it had been that sort of week.

Not to worry though, I sat in the near empty café with my binoculars and a decent cup of coffee.

Next to me, occupying the really comfortable viewing chairs, were two women who chattered away to each other endlessly.

They did not see the cormorant fishing, the egret preening or the brief but magical appearance of the kingfisher not yards from their window.

I closed my eyes and willed them to vanish. And they did, just like that, got up and left and I enjoyed a lovely hour of solitude along with the remaining birders.

Enlightenment! It was either the end of their lunch break or I have discovered some inner mystical power.

I may visit the town centre or the arcade and see if I can work same vanishing magic on the quarrelsome alcoholics that mostly reside there…

DEAR friends invited me around for supper and, apparently in a mild alcoholic- induced moment, I had once said I was happy to try a sheep’s heart.

Big mistake. Dark, grisly things devoured by my hosts but, thanks to their friendly pooch that nestled at my feet beneath the dining table, I was spared the ordeal as he surreptitiously ate mine a tiny piece at a time.

Moral, be careful what you agree to under the influence of a glass or two of wine.

I have invited them around for supper and will delight them with curried gorilla guts and bull’s bits. Revenge is best served hot!

DURING a recent conversation with an old friend, he asked me, rather morbidly I thought, where did I think we go when we are dead?

I told him that as far as I knew, it is Worthing Cremmy. He appeared contented with that answer although I suspect he was hoping for something a little deeper, a tad more philosophical but, for once, I was a bit lost for words.

NO hearing aid needed, it appears people mumble, TV programme makers have little idea as to where to place microphones and I probably have selective hearing. Eh?