Wednesday. Slap bang in the middle. Neither one thing or another. It doesn't know if it's the start of the week, slow and healthy, or, nearly the weekend, faster and sociable. Basically it doesn't know what the fuck it is. Wednesday is essentially a tranny. Marthur or Arthur. It's confused.
I felt more refreshed and slightly chipper after yesterday's good news. My head was calm, my health OK and i manged not to shout or grumble at anyone. I even took the reproofs for the business cards in good humour. #whatswrongwithme?
I managed to be quite busy without actually achieving much. Writing lists and working through them is apparently the way to go;
1 - Write a list of what to do - tick
2 - errrrrr?
Not a productive day profesionally, but personally? Well something unusual did happen;
An email from my brother linked to the Llanelli Star news article, of him holding up an old family book, which dates back to mid 1800's, owned by my Nan's Grandmother. In the book are potions and recipes in Welsh including 3 recipes for Whiskey.
Now my Nan's family name is Daniels and according to family history, Nan's Great uncle, Joseph Daniels emigrated to USA Tennesse in around 1840. Nothing was heard from him again. Then in mid 1800's they had several children, one of which was 'Jack' Daniels. See where this story is going?
Basically in a nutshell, my Brother believes the book and recipe could well be the original recipe for Jack Daniels Whiskey. If you read Wikipedia about the history it mentions he was a descendant of Wales. It is plausible as there is no real record of the recipe and where it's from. Could this be it?
If it is, then fuck my old boots it really does place Llanelli at the heart of the world. Fuck off Made in Chelsea, Made in Llanelli is taking over now. Apparently The Sun newspaper are interested. The book is real, The recipes are real and it's dated 1840. signed by what would be my Great Great Great Grandmother. According to Uncle Ken, my Grandfather was offered £80 for the book before the second world war. That was in 1940, so that's equivalent to around £100,000 now right? MMMM, i wonder?
Maybe that's why the family has been afflicted with severe alcoholism for all these years? That would be rather ironic wouldn't it? It would also be ironic as my Nan, a Daniels only really ever enjoyed a sweet sherry every decade and on state occasions. I didn't follow her drinking habits.
So keep them peeled readers, hopefully the story will be picked up by the Nationals and we will see where it goes from there. I know it sounds completely mental, but have a read of the link. You will then think, mm, well maybe?
http://www.thisissouthwales.co.uk/famous-tipple-Llanelli/story-16354901-detail/story.html
So that was a rather random curve ball for the day. I dutifully got the train back in Rush hour and walked for ages on the platform checking out each carriage for seats. It was packed, other than the last carriage where there was a seat available in middle of 3 seats. Only trouble was one side was an enormous man in a pin striped suit, who basically looked like a big duvet. He must have been around 24 stones. Taking a seat and a half, encroaching into free seat territory. On the other side was a slightly pikey Asian chap who clearly hadn't yet heard of this new invention called deodorant. He fucking stunk.
it was a dilemma i tell you. Stand wedged in for the next 20 minutes or sit between Giant Haystacks and The anti Right Guard campaigner. I chose the later.
In i wedged, holding my breath. It was basically like trying to sit in a child's seat. Little room for manoeuvre, especially as Haystacks was trying to read the paper. His fat elbows were nudging me all the way.
I managed to breath once i think, around the Mortlake area, so i didn't have to smell the odious pong. The big guy was sweating up too, so it was effectively like the worst manage a trios you could imagine. Still, no-one said commuting was easy. You have to battle some days. I mean a relaxing train journey with a comfy seat would be far too much to ask TFL. It;s just not London is it, well unless you're an Olympic VIP, then it's a piece of piss. True London i think they shall not be experiencing.
The journey made me feel dirty of body and soul so i went to the gym for 2 hour workout. The big beast wasn't there so i wasn't able to apologize and make amends, he's no doubt rapping in front of a mirror, guzzling down some muscle builder.
Me? I pumped, spoke to one of my oldest mates, Burge, who's got 3 young kids. a new house and no life. Heroic.
He explained to me how he had re plumbed the kitchen, put up shelves, constructed a shed and painted the living room, all with 3 nippers running around. I felt significantly less than. A worthless man. The only thing i can do manly give a woman multiples. A great skill no doubt but ultimately the plumbing is a better long term bet. My Priorities are wrong, i Clearly need to improve my DIY skills and I'm not talking about self flagellation.
Nan same. Not eating. Very weak. Spirit Strong. Remarkable woman
Night
xx
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