I like to play with words. Endlessly. It's a little game my aunty and uncle also play but it's also useful for scrabble, an awful lot better than counting sheep and means you can entertain yourself in tedious situations. Not to be recommended is telling other people about the links you make - unless you are a more competent poet than me. But hey, it's fun.
I spent the afternoon listening to my parents waxing lyrical on the delights of a holiday in Barnstaple - bless them I love that rainy days didn't blunt their enthusiasm for tea and cake and trips out! Or cooked breakfasts. What did they think they were doing, turning the boiler off? I realise how anxious my dad gets, when I thought I'd inheriting that from mum.
And then sorting out their online shop, dual fuel tariffs, direct debits, online milk account - much anxiety from them both and finally installing whatsapp and teaching mum how to use it - she wanted to try it out as my other aunty suggested it to her. My reward - double portion of chocolate swiss roll. Oh well. It would have been rude not to.
Driving over and back I admired the ranks of daffodils planted alongside the road. A host of golden daffodils indeed. I always thought "a host" meant an awful lot, but driving, I started thinking. A host - an army of golden daffodils, green sword like leaves, a phalanx of them, standing like soldiers in rows? I'm sure that's what he meant - words change!
Which lead me to why do catholics called the communion bread "the host"? So I looked it up - it comes from "sacrifice" - confused? - I am! Though I suppose an army sacrifices themselves.
By the time I'd got to the roundabout I was thinking about hosting an event - being welcoming - where does that come from then? Hostess trolley? Host trolley just sounds odd doesn't it? But then air hostess and air host - cabin staff now? Gender specifics are a bit dated.
I needed a glass of wine to recover
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