Chopped Liver – Like a Ringing Tone

Y’know, when you do things often and regular enough, they become routine. Even when what you are doing is not exactly what you … eh.. might routinely expect to be doing.

Like this blog. Every day. Get something out there – at least so readers know you still are… out there.

So routine consists of doing what I do during the day, doing what I do in the evening, doing my blog of course, and going to sleep (usually at bedtime – but sometimes I just flag out during the day and catch some zeds).

What I don’t expect is – for my mobile phone to ring – for an unknown number to pop up – and for a voice to say – “we have a liver for you Chuck, can you pop down right away and we’ll see if we can pop it in?” “Right? ta love, Laters”.

Which is precisely what happened today – ish.

B, Weedy and I were enjoying the glorious sunshine in the tearoom on the grounds of a National Trust House when the mobile went off. I checked the display and what do you know? An unknown number. I answered the call and let them know, in no uncertain terms, that I fully intend to finish my tea and slice of choccy cake before I take on any more projects – thank you very much.

Ok ok, the last bit did not happen. It wasn’t the hospital calling. There was no liver. But the point of this diatribe is simply to say that it shook me up a bit – how shall I say – a reminder – that anytime soon, or not so soon, my ring tone may indeed sound to the tune of the Royal Free with just such a message.

The question is – should I continue to put it out of my mind and carry on my blogging as a piece of spontaneous literature (ooh, hark at him!) or should I put myself more in a state of permanent alert.

I vote for the former.

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