Some totally unconnected observations.

Last night, coming home shattered after a day at the plasterface (well actually paint-roller face, but with roller at the end of a two metre pole, and seven steps up a step-ladder), I passed to buy some food at the local Intermarché (something like Morrison's). As I was queuing up for the check-out, nervous as always that they want to check all your bags for shoplifting, the manager, a shaven-haired hulk with a speech defect, loomed over me. Having watched previous altercations, albeit as a witness, I was not looking forward to what was going to happen next. Instead, surprise...

I knew from the better half that the local winos and tramps stocked up on bevvy at the Intermarché, but I didn't know how they did it, being pretty grungy, and their dogs even more so. Well, I've discovered how: it is the ideal combination of social disapproval and commercial opportunity, a bit like drugs costing more just because they are illegal.

The winos were formally refused entry, despite brandishing what looked like legal tender. Mr shaven-head made a show of refusing them entry, then took their money, went to the booze aisle, checked out the product of choice (not my choice of poison), and then gave it them whilst trousering the change.

The second observation concerns the after effects of our blacksmith having expertly removed the Greek colonnade (and the underlying tiles). Today, he came again with his son and put some replacement tiles in. The job was really well done, but as a piece of parting advice, he suggested rinsing the floor with hydrochloric acid. Just keep the windows open and hey presto, a very clean tiled floor. Well, I looked up hydrochloric acid. Does well cleaned lungs, skin, eyes, nostrils, etc. Pretty toxic, and not, for me at least, the cleaner of choice.