Another view, from the window...

To me, this vista is spoilt, with the telegraph pole in the scene. It is a fact of our modern lives. It is to be 'lived with'. Ugly though. I don't have to like it. May have to accept it, but the 'hippie' in me protests.

This next photo is the wider view. No telegraph poles. Is it real?

I hear the TV bleating about brain disorders. Alzhiemers. A subject close to my life. A Mother-in Law who suffered, &, eventually died from the disease. It took years. Who knows the pattern of this terrible disease.

I tend to see this as the vista, more preferred. No Alzhiemers. No dementia.

Just huge threats?? Perhaps the wrong end of the telescope. I am sure. But...

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We have very different tastes, the Gom & I. In all sorts of areas.

He likes RED meat. I don't. He loves Red, as a colour. I don't.

We can mostly overcome our differences, & agree to disagree. Certainly about food, ... as a rule.

I cooked a chicken dish, Coq au Vin. A Classic. Which I have cooked, & served, to acclaim, to guests.

Gom's verdict was.... "Bloody awful."

Wha???this man obviously has a death wish!

If you have ever cooked a classic dish for someone, & been met with such a response, I wonder how you felt/would feel?

The hurling of food is foreign to my nature. Occasionally, I will be forced out of my comfort Zone.

I was about to say I have never hurled food at the Gom, but I take that back. There was that one occasion, when he wore mashed potato, on his eyelashes, as he blinked-in utter surprise!- & it jiggled in his nostrils, & eyebrows, as they rose & fell in rage. But happy as that image may be to contemplate, it was shortlived. He blinked it all away, & sneered as I cleaned the extras off the cupboard. The joys of early marriage are such treasured memories!!

I would like to think it taught him the limits of my tolerance. But WTH?? He is a man, & they just don't get those warning signs.

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On other fronts, I narrowly missed being annihilated under a car, this morning, on the way to Heat/Light therapy. I cursed the slowness of the f***ing driver. I could have been dispatched to the land of the lost! Bugger!

I told the nurse, enquiring of my feckingnon progress, that I will be divorced before a cure or answer is found. Sympathetic clicking noises were heard from her throat. I had the heat. I left, feeling more inclined to think it some sort of ^$***%&*%%% con!!

Sod.

Beatles, Strawberry Fields Forever.