I’ve just heard an ice cream van in an adjacent street, which bore the James Bond theme as its chime. Deeming this a quirky alternative from the oft heard melodic chimes, such as ‘Greensleeves’ or ‘Whistle While You Work’, this soundscape was the catalyst to a wry grin adorning my visage.
The aural backdrop placing me into a parallel world, forming creative notions of James Bond working undercover as West Yorkshire’s first ever licensed to kill ice cream man….. Well, with the exception of the Heckmondwike ice cream truck driver Thruxton Chunder whose Walter Mitty-esque claims include the boast he also possesses 00 status.
As my mind wandered with further absurdity, notions that 007’s nefarious target was heinous cat whisperer Ernst Blofeld, scarred of face and evil of intent, manifested. Blowers plotting his strategies to achieve world supremacy from a semi-detached house (with surprisingly spacious living room) in nearby Moor Knoll Lane.
Far fetched I know; in particular a spy advertising his presence via theme tune. However, with the prevailing COVID induced life attaining an unprecedented plateau of surreality, as it stands, I’d suggest it’d be foolhardy to immediately dismiss the possibility of any life events.
My suspicions Blofeld maybe planning malevolence from a base within this locale elevated further by the fact I recently caught an all white cat defecating in my garden borders.
Serious, though, is it remotely feasible Ernst Blofeld lives in the Wakefield suburbs of East Ardsley? Additionally, could it be Daniel Craig is our new ice cream man?…. I won’t insult anyones intelligence by even affording such preposterousness a response.
After all, firstly, Blofeld is a fictional character. Secondly, as a consequence of allergies to sugar cones, along with angst when confronted with ‘hundreds and thousands’ ice cream topping, I’d suggest Daniel Craig is highly unlikely to ever dispense iced confectionery products.
Subsequent reputational damage and food hygiene broaches, consequential from dishing out ’99’s’ and choc ices with hive covered arms, chucking such notions down a very deep mineshaft.
In conclusion, as my dear old mother would no doubt proffer, the very idea there’s world dominance being plotted in nearby avenues is “As far fetched as horse s**t from China!”
Anyhow, enough of this fictional flannel, Gary!…..
I’ve recently returned from a local plant nursery where I procured potting compost, along with bedding plants with which to chromatically enhance chez Strachan’s garden canvas.
I accept my adopted enterprise name of ‘Project More Horticulture Colour Tha’ Knows‘ is a creatively lazy and rubbish title. However, I can assure you I’ll undertake a significant amount of graft during phase two; ie the manual gardening task at hand….. As the old adage advocates ‘Actions speak louder than words’.
Phase two of this horticulture project, ie the potting of the aforementioned procured bedding plants, has been scheduled for late afternoon when shadows lengthen and solar ray heat is less intense. The prevailing zephyr should also hopefully diminish heat discomfort levels whilst yours truly labours.
If I don’t get caught in any Moor Knoll Lane crossfire between Bond and Blofeld before hand, later I’ll get to see my son Jonathon for the first time in months. He turns 30 next week, and is no doubt using this faux desire to meet his dad and grandma as cover for the real agenda of procuring a card and present from his hapless forebears!…. Only kidding Jonny, you’re not that mercenary! 😉
Even though I can’t hug him, it’ll be great to see my boy after all this time!!….. I wonder if he fancies potting some bedding plants while he’s here?!