Generational dividends on enthusiasm at the bottom of the English Channel

When Bessy woke this morning there was a stir in the air and a gentle waft of enthusiasm made its way across the bedroom. Mornings are rare like this. They have a special meaning for those in search of tranquil places. Unfortunately for me Margaret was in no such search and so the chorus of birds that might - in a fanciful state - have accompanied Bessy's postures of positivity were instead replaced by a somersault, a T-bone handstand (that's what she calls it) and an elevation of tips of hair manoeuvre. Yes, it was a spangly (I heard someone say it once) start to the day.

Felix had managed to avoid anything excessive when he arrived from a deep-sea dive this morning. Down on the ocean floor last night - out there between us and The Continent (his capitals - not mine) - there stirred the beginnings of a generation of morbid realities waiting to be caught. I had an inkling this was something prophetic but Felix said they dated from 1929 and bore no relevance to us. I sighed with relief.

George was upside down again on the reception desk. Why not when nothing else seems to bear any resemblance to the earth as we know it?

Cookie was chatting to our first patient when I entered the surgery. I greeted Mr Philpot with a generous grin (at least I thought it was) and asked if he'd ever heard of Grayling Sispepsia. He said it was a term for generational dividends maturing in a stepwise fashion on moribund mortgage dues. Cookie nodded her head knowingly. And there I was thinking I had just made up a couple of words for enjoyment.

Which is where we started. Enthusiasm for a day can soon turn to realism and then there's a smart answer for it. I find this rarely reassuring.