I am sure I would never have written about flying my parachutist as I would probably not have a) known the word or b) been able to spell it. Do any of you remember those plastic chaps? Flimsy plastic moulded men, with ill-fitting and – usually- askew facial features where they had been stuck together slightly off centre, with a transparent plastic parachute affair attached to them by cotton. Skywards you threw them, and – with luck, and no interfering branches - they would fall to the ground with plastic stretched, slightly unconvincingly, out above them. Alarmingly, they did seem to fall to the ground at a rate of speed that I would not like to contemplate if undergoing the real thing; on top of which, they did seem to hit the ground with a resounding thud reminiscent of a few broken leg bones at the least. I think a lot of mine ended up being chewed actually – it was that kind of soft plastic that was comforting to gnaw on when a bit bored! Ah those halcyon days of youth.
Anyway, I have gone off on a tangent, as usual.
It was also Jon and my 1st wedding anniversary on Monday (paper I believe – hmm you can’t get many presents made of paper). I see from a website that the modern symbol is a clock – why may I ask? And why is that time thing looming its foreboding head again? Now more interesting - it also says that the gems associated with this anniversary are freshwater pearls. Uh hum – I wonder if ‘you know who’ will read this? Or am I supposed to get him some too? No surely not – can you imagine Jon wearing a freshwater pearl earring? Hmmm no – I don’t think so.
Have you seen this man? If you see him, do not approach him - he will scare the living daylights out of you with strange facial expressions.