Archdeacon of Bridgebridge

Yesterday I penned my 2,200 blog since embarking on this literary odyssey. My informing you of such proving beyond doubt that, at the very least, I’ve the intellectual wherewithal to count to 2,000, and even slightly beyond.

Quite clearly, I was kidding above when suggesting yours truly tallied the narrative numbers manually. COVID lockdown can have its challenges, but endeavouring to fill white space by hand counting prose output isn’t the solution to any of them.

I’m aware of reaching the 2,200 landmark courtesy of insight statistics provided by my website provider. A friendly bunch who, I assume, have one of their minions hand counting my published monologue tally; ready for onward distribution to GJ Strachan esq.

Being a trustworthy sort, I’ve not demanded a further hand verification of the numbers. Especially after learning the Trump campaign’s request for Georgia recounting US presidential election votes cost $3 million. I seek accuracy in statistical information, but not $3 million accuracy.

I’ve just been for a meander around the village, where I blew away the cobwebs and, no doubt, even more of my ever receding hair. The latter not intentional, merely the collateral damage of a middle-age man strolling in anything above a breeze.

People say it’d slow down the balding process if I wore a hat. However, my flat cap blew away during a particularly windy day a few weeks back and am yet to replace the headwear. I’ve no idea where the cap came to rest. However, with the strength of the westerly gusts that day, I’d venture it’ll be somewhere near Hull.

During my navigation of East Ardsley’s streets and avenues, I bumped into an acquaintance who proffered, while rubbing icy hands together, “I tell you what, Gary. It’s colder than you think.”

An expression leading me to mischievously retort “How do you know?”

This bemused acquaintance who, for the benefit of anonymity, I’ll name the Archdeacon of Bridgebridge, replied “How do I know what?”

“You said it’s colder than you think….. How do you know how cold I was anticipating it’d be?” yours truly teased.

“I meant when you looked out of the window before your walk, you’d not have guessed it’d be this chilly.” the Archdeacon, clearly unaware I was ‘breaking balls’ sought to clarify.

“How. do you know that’s what I was thinking….. You’ve just spouted an ill informed assumption I’d predicted outside temperatures would be decidedly high for this time of year.” I continued winding up the Bridgebridge cleric.

“Well it’s what I thought anyhow.” Archie boy posited.

“If that’s the case why didn’t you greet me with the words ‘It’s colder than I thought’, as opposed to submitting the word I instead of you.” GJ Strachan proceeded to ball break.

Before adding “That would’ve been an informed comment of which there could’ve been no contradiction.” I continued to taunt the clergyman.

“It’s just a saying, Gary….. To be honest, I didn’t think you be so bloody pedantic!” the Archdeacon barked, finally growing irritated by my verbal skullduggery.

“I’m not being pedantic. It’s just I’m not keen on people thinking they can read my mind. Which, as it isn’t colder than I thought it’d be, is something you clearly can’t do with any accuracy.” my taunting proceeded.

“Well, I thought it’d be warmer than it is…… I take it, from your pedantry, you were expecting Bradford Road to be overrun with polar bears?” Bridgebridge’s finest clergyman chuntered.

“Nah…. I’m just breaking balls more than you thought!.”

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