Porty

Minky day, and the rain was tippling down outside when I opened the curtains at 8am. But that forecast still was adamant that we’d have full sun by 11am. And it actually did come to pass. Full sun and fool son. That’s a bit unkind, I should amend it. For I’d arranged a meet up with the son and the Danish girl down at Porty Prom. Maybe her last visit for a while, but who knows? 
And then back via Asda where the Minky chose some flowers for her mum who is a bit poorly.
And finally out for a good spree and natter up at the Diggers. MrT is on his own as W is off in Oz for a month so we’re looking after him. He needed a whisky, so I gallantly said I’d chum him if he ordered one. Of course then I had to get him one back. When Rog and I legged it to the bus, the others having departed, he was left on his own. The only guy at the adjoining table was the gangsta, as he’s mysteriously called. Please look after that old guy I said to him as we exited and disappeared out into the night. I’m sure he’s trustworthy. Though he might like a whisky.