Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo loves the sensation in the morning of coming muzzily to semi-awareness, beginning to groan at the thought of another day in the salt mines, and then suddenly realizing, “Oh, yeah – it’s Saturday.”

Friends of the decanter will recall the appallingly expensive and heretofore largely useless generator which I mentioned last week having shut itself down? Turns out it was simply a case of ants building a nest on the circuit board, thereby confusing it. The tech called them “crazy ants”. The innertoobs calls them “Raspberry ants“. For reasons known only to themselves, they seem to be attracted by electronics. Go figure. Anyhoo, it was simply a matter of cleaning the rubble off the board (the ants were gone) and Bob’s your uncle.

Ol’ Robbo notices that yet again he needs to get out and cut back the ivy that threatens to get up under the roof on one of the corners of Port Swiller Manor. In order to do so, I have to shimmy out the side window in Youngest Gel’s bedroom onto the roof of teh garage. Ol’ Robbo does not enjoy this. Apart from the question of height, it’s an awkward squeeze out the window and my first attempt at it about a year ago was largely responsible for bringing on the sciatica that’s been plaguing me off and on ever since.

I’m not sure because I haven’t been especially looking out for them, but I suspect the hummingbirds might have decided it’s time to pack up and head south. I would think that if they drink nothing but nectar, they simply can’t afford to loiter about until the last minute. Ol’ Robbo likes to ponder on how far my particular birds actually go. All the way across the Gulf to Mexico? Or do they just get some friends to buy a lot of postcards for them and pretend?

Whelp, all that said and a cuppa kawfee down the hatch, the lawn isn’t going to mow itself….