Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

A rare day with an entirely empty diary usually signifies one thing: I have so much to do that I genuinely don’t know where to begin. Naturally, I decided to start where I left off yesterday—pre-reading documentation for next week’s board meetings in Glasgow. Well, that was the grand plan.

First, however, I had to appease the password gods. This involved entering a 14-character security code made up of the most bizarre words imaginable, numbers jumbled more thoroughly than lottery balls, and obscure symbols I didn’t even realise existed on a keyboard. In the end, my schedule worked out as one hour of reading and two hours trying to gain access to the system.

Household chores were next on my list of non-priorities, and a swift race around the house with the vacuum cleaner provided some welcome physical exercise. Thankfully, the machine requires no password, though it had been left with a completely full dust canister—which served as its own form of security override. The machine simply wasn’t going to start until the cylinder was emptied.

Karen’s relentless clearing mission had produced yet another mountain of rubbish for the local recycling centre (regular readers will note how thoroughly I’ve been educated away from calling it ‘the tip’). With the Cayenne crammed to the roof with bags, boxes, old doors, and stray electrical bits, I set off, confident I possessed a specimen for every single container on site.

The recycling operatives were out in force as I pulled in. If there’s any sign of precious scrap metal, they’re onto it before it even leaves the boot, though they certainly wouldn’t be interested in today’s haul. Their sole focus was ensuring I sorted every item with pinpoint accuracy.

I was doing remarkably well until I lifted out an unholy hybrid: a timber off-cut with a brass coat hook, plastic clips, and a four-gang electrical extension socket all firmly screwed to it. Where on earth does that go? Electricals, scrap metal, timber, or hard plastics? I was faced with a level of sorting granularity that felt entirely disproportionate, particularly given my sneaking suspicion that it all ultimately ends up in the very same hole in the ground anyway.

A helpful operative spotted me gazing bewildered at this multi-material monstrosity. “Small domestic appliances for that one, sir,” he directed cheerfully. Problem solved.

To round off the day, we headed down to the hall for the annual village quiz—a hotly contended event held as part of the Pewsey Carnival celebrations.

The room was filled with distinct factions. There were the clear favourites who took the entire affair with deadly seriousness, and who I suspect spend every waking hour revising encyclopedia. At the opposite end of the spectrum was a team who looked as though they’d merely turned up to meet friends for dinner, blissfully unaware it was quiz night; their table was practically groaning under the weight of an elaborate cheese board, wine, and biscuits. Then, of course, there was the inevitable table that felt compelled to challenge every single answer, delaying proceedings at every turn.

Finally, there was us: four friends, each armed with our own highly specialised knowledge. Mine, naturally, was Recycling Centre Requirements 2025–2026; Karen covered local Pewsey life; Shaz took care of 1980s music; and Ruth handled military history and sports from any given era.

We didn’t come last, we had a fantastic evening, and all proceeds went to a brilliant cause. We’ll certainly be back next year.

Besides, now that Pewsey Carnival season is officially underway, it can only mean one thing: an absolute goldmine of blog material over the coming days!