I’ve been having weird dreams, just like in the Number 8 smash by Old Mudgie’s favourite sisters.
My hair will soon be that long, despite having a son who’s a barber.
Most of these dreams involve me working in an office (aaagh !), but the other night I rejoined the United Nations. Was this the right decision ? What will I have to do ?
Clearly I’m sugar-deficient or something. Luckily, local dairy Our Cow Mollie is an essential supplier so we returned to the scene of my rubbish 2020 birthday to stock up on chocolate ice cream.
Mere minutes from the edge of Sheffield suburbia, Mollie (below) produces award winning milk and 22 flavours of ice cream in small or big tubs. And she doesn’t eat toddlers, a bonus at half-term.
There was some debate locally whether take-away milk, ice cream and fudge brownies is essential, but luckily for Wonderful Walkley’s woke parents it’s fine to come here and queue politely for a machiato while your Millie mithers Molly.
Due to Covid,
and Mrs RM’s unsuitable footwear, the footpath was closed.
With a litre of chocolate ice cream in the boot we couldn’t walk far, but we did stop to enjoy the delights of Loxley’s Wisewood Cemetery on the route back via Hillsborough. Note my unintentional art shot of the Admiral Rodney (Black Sheep).
The graves overlook the Rivelin Valley, and a 20 minute stroll gives you opportunity to realise that you’ve outlived half the people in Sheffield AND have a respectful argument about the difference between average and median with your son.
I could have done with a pint at the lovely Wisewood, though.
But beer and dairy products (I had the mint choc chip) don’t mix, particularly if you’re jogging.