Sold to a fisherman at birth

Rachel couldn't believe that the latest batch of orange juice wouldn't go out of date until January 2017. "Where is this year going?!" With no particular conviction whatsoever, I started a discussion about how they should change the system of time - we've had this one for such a long while now. Surely it's good to shake things up a bit? It wasn't really much of a discussion, though. No one else joined in, or even paid my words the slightest bit of attention. Rachel had turned her thoughts to producing a miracle over Europe (a continental wide aurora borealis, or a comet), just about anything really that would bring some cheer. I think it would be a good idea to deploy Fi-Fi. 

The conversation continued to deepen, and darken, when Rachel told of how her mum had sold her to a fisherman at birth because she got the wrong end of the stick. I should probably say at this point that I may have slightly misunderstood, or missed out on hearing some crucial words when Rachel was recounting this particular story. Oh well. I'm sure it's near enough to the truth. On a lighter note, we had a Dutch family staying at the hostel for a week - and I've never seen a car covered in so much bird shit as theirs was. 

We had quite a bit of rain on Thursday, but Rachel informed me that the weather would be better in the morning. She hadn't actually seen a forecast but had heard the builders talking. I had donned traditional Lake District attire earlier that afternoon to walk down to the Woolpack. Tom-Tom was there, and he sang to me - something about being alone and eating worms of all different sizes. It was beautiful. 

The day drew to its conclusion in a slightly more peculiar manner than usual. Mick accidentally shaved his beard off, and out of nowhere, Rachel said, "I bet The Corrs have done a reggae remix of Lady in Red, because they have no respect for anything sacred."