Another month gone, another batch of photos uploaded. May turned out to be a month of transition and change. The lockdown largely ended and shops and restaurants opened up. I got new trainers. The weather belatedly turned from cold and miserable to warm and sunny. And Debenhams around the country closed their doors for the final time after 230 years of trading.
The Bournemouth branch of Debenhams opened in 1972, the year I was born. I’ll add that to the growing list of things and people that I’ve outlived. I long ago outlasted the likes of Jesus and John Lennon. By the time I hit fifty in October, I’ll be able to add the likes of Whitney Houston, Al Capone and Alvaro Obregon to the collection.
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Alvaro Obregon is an odd one to add to the list. As long as you do plot the assassination of Pancho Villa, you may be safe.
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Obregon is a bit left field. But the title of the blog is derived from my time in Mexile. And the blog stats show that Mexico is the third biggest audience. So it’s only right that I throw them the occasional bone.
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That should be “as long as you do NOT plot.”
It is no surprise that my fingers are faster than my mind. The fabled tortoidse is faster than my mind.
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I have a few hits planned*, but Obregon is safe.
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My Grandfather died at 42, I was sweating bullets about age 41. My other Grandfather passed at 69, only about four years out-we’ll see.
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My maternal grandfather made it to 71. Which was’t so bad considering he’d had a stroke in his 40s and two heart attacks in his 50s. But I suspect my genes come mostly from the paternal side, and the paternal side is something of an unknown.
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