The Tears of a Clown

Now if there's a smile upon my face…

Quaker Notes

Sorry for the red top type headline, I really couldn’t resist that one. I was woken from my slumbers last night by an indeterminate noise and the ceiling visibly shaking. Confused I was. What was happening, not the plumbing playing up again or my partner performing a tap dance in a pair of clogs upstairs? Removing the redundant laptop computer from my knee and heading off upstairs I encountered said partner asking me if I’d heard the earthquake? Tempted to say no out of devilment, I indicated yes, checked the curtains to see if the street was still in place then headed for bed.

Of course the media was full of the big story this morning. An earthquake with it’s epicentre in the town of Market Rasen, thirty miles south-west of Hull in Humberside had occurred to a literal tune of 5.2 on the Richter Scale. The quake had erupted at around eight miles beneath the earth’s surface.

Dare I say that this was a very British earthquake? Along my cul-de-sac, neighbours could be heard chattering out on the cold pavements shortly afterwards, comparing notes and anxious to understand what had happened. (It’s just an earthquake folks – go back to bed).

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February 27, 2008 Posted by | Ripping Yarns | , , , | 1 Comment