Let's Do This Newsreader Style

Good morning. Today;

- a mid-air collision shatters the peace in South Hatfield
- Stuart gets blisters on his stomach
- horse seen galloping down the road behind Asda
- end of world expected by teatime

Yesterday afternoon, a helicopter and a light aircraft collided and crashed in a field a few hundred yards south of my house. There is not a hell of a lot more I can say about this, other than it is a bloody great shame and the skies above Hatfield seem incredibly crowded and without discernible order. The near-misses I have seen whilst sitting in the back garden make my hair curl.

In introspective news, and no doubt something which will prove amusing to readers of a certain sense of humour, I have blisters on my stomach. Last night, at about 0030hrs, I ventured into the kitchen to have dinner. Don't ask. Certain bits of me run on New York time. I was wearing just shorts because the evening was quite balmy.
Housemate Khalil was in there (bits of him are running on student time), and I offered him some food. As I got the wok and oil heated for the sausages, I remembered that I had meant to borrow some DVDs from Khalil - Blue Planet and The Secret Life of Plants. This got us almost instantly into a heated conversation on evolution.
By the time we had both agreed that for human minds it is difficult to come to terms with the sheer immensity of the process required to produce codependent symbiotic relationships between species without assuming and inserting a nonexistent cognitive controlling influence into the mechanisms of evolution, I remembered the wok and got the sausages out of the fridge.
I was making a very complex point about parallel evolution and I wasn't really concentrating as I half dropped, half tossed a pair of sausages into the oil, which, in accordance with all the universe's laws of physics and a couple of the laws of slapstick comedy, spattered sizzling olive oil onto my belly.

Despite a cold shower (at 1am. Wheee!) and strategically held ice, one of the spatter burns has blossomed into a suppuration of white blobbles.

This morning, at around 9am I was crossing the car park to my office when I noticed with mild interest that a bulky and imposing shire horse in black livery and with a large black ostrich feather affixed to its head was cantering down the street. Three undertakers, one of whom was holding his top hat in place as he went, were running after it.

This is the news at 9.53.

Good day to you.