Missile launch codes

  There's a good chance I'm not going to find a way to tie food into this story but let's see what happens. Last night, as I told you, I had zipped south in preparation for today's mischief. If you missed yesterday's post, my posse had arranged a ride out, including a test ride on a BMW missile. To add to the mischief, I had cheekily called the BMW dealer and booked my own ride on another missile.  This was going to be fun.

  Plans changed fortuitously and a couple of extra hombres joined the posse so this was going to be a cracking inaugural ride and the only cloud on the horizon was of the actual rain delivering variety. The weather forecasters kept changing their minds and this morning there was a shower. Oh dear!  Was fortune smiling or messing with us?

Me..? on a double R..? with my reputation..? I don't think so.

  It turned out that the early precipitation was all that would fall, the roads dried quickly and warm sunshine accompanied us for much of the day, which was nice. Two became three, then four and finally five. We all strode purposefully into the showroom, paperwork was signed, keys were handed over and missiles were launched. Yehaa!

  Hours later we returned intact (amazingly). Once we'd handed back the munitions it was off to discuss the afternoon's activities. All that was needed was a convenient, quick eatery where we could grab a snack and a chair for the debriefing before heading off on our merry ways in various directions.

  Where was chosen? McFuckingDonald's of course. It goes without saying that I didn't order anything, but I sat surrounded by trays containing big macs, fries and whatever, not feeling the slightest inclination to join in. I'm not going to rant and rave at this point. I know I'm preaching to the choir and there's nothing I can say that will make the slightest difference anyway but at least I found a way to weave food into the story.

​​​​​​​Tomorrow, lunch.

Kirk out

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