Some things just can't be spoken

Watch "Hugh Laurie & Stephen Fry - Where is the Lid?" on YouTube

When you click the link above,  you'll understand. Some things defy prose and need to be sung. Like a spot of bloody sunshine.

It just so happens that in a world filled up with banalities, our little country seems a much more wonderful place when sun makes its overdue return, though is nonetheless less likely to stay for a week like Billy Connolly and even less likely to give out to  photographers.

In a week where carbon dioxide levels reached 400ppm, when the earth's climate is projected to be at prehistoric heights by the end of the century, Ireland remains damper the dampy dampington, the dampest fish on the dampest fishtank in the parish of St. Fluich.

I'll happily take any inkling of this and burst into song when the  weather's like today.

I can't see clearly now the rain ain't gone...

When I was younger, I used to say that we should get a giant tugboat to drag Ireland to the Carribean. Even today, I'd be willing take tropical storms in exchange for good weather, strong Guinness and cricket. And after yet another endless, dark and miserable Winter, it'd better happen soon. Things have become such, that my wife has taken the next evolutionary step towards becoming a creature of hibernation, and my work on finding clothes that can be worn without getting sodden by a renegade gang of rain clouds continues.

Furthermore, my balcony is now a makeshift shipyard, and once I find info on Google about building tugs, then there's no going back! Short story race goes well, and the radio show script stays rooted in reality.