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Date – Diary shortcut via home page or Siri
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Hike the Road to WOS in upper Summit Park. Meet at 10:00 at Bub’s house. Wear my new spikes as it’s all packed snow but a few specks of ice. Great hike, 4 miles and 600 feet. Enough calories for a bottle of red wine
Pickleball in the morning followed by dinner at B&M’s with Janelle.
Did the barn loop with Mike. Called in at D&J’s for an espresso and got invited to ribs for dinner. Great ribs and company as always.
In the evening Barbara and Steph come round for drinks. Steph gives us one of his lovely home made cheese boards.
Feeling like you are being taken for a fool by this government? Can’t see the point any more? LISTEN
Another blue bird day. A 3.5 mile hike with Joe down the Hospital loop. Then Smiths for my shopping fix. Followed by a gentle stroll in the afternoon with Wendy, it’s like a Spring day.
In the evening B&M come round for dinner.
Pickle ball to start the day, not one of my better performances. Then we’re off down to Salt Lake to go bowling. By 1400 we’re back home. Another bluebird day 56F.
In the evening it’s Ice Hockey with Joe at Black Rock. Great seats just behind the goal at ice level. Really feel in the action as the Puck comes hurtling to the perspex safety glass and the players bounce off it. They may only be young amateurs but it’s a great game. When you look at all the different names on their shirts it certainly makes you realise that America is a land of immigrants.
Start another bluebird day with a 4 mile walk with Joe.
In the afternoon Wendy and I take a stroll up to the Market, bus ride back.
Pick Mike up and Marianne and we’re off to the Glenwild Golf Club for dinner. Greta food, service, wine and company. Always top quality, even Valet parking.
Saturday, 14 February 2026
Oh is it really Valentine’s Day! Yet another exploitation of a Pagan festival.
Final pack up from 163 as we depart for a week at Mikes. What a planning nightmare as we have winter clothes for Mikes lockup; Summer clothes in the 3rd floor cupboard ready for when we’re back in April; clothes for a week at Mikes; clothes to go back home.
Get settled in at Mikes.
Then it’s dinner at D&J and family – awesome corned beef and cabbage.
Sunday, 15 February 2026
Start the day at Mikes with peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
A 2 mile stroll down the Rail Trail and back with Wendy and Mike.
Then in the afternoon Mike and family are round to Mikes for dinner. Supposedly we’re all going to see Hemnet at the library cinema along with B&M, Mike has free tickets. Joanne, Dan and Marianne back out – did they have a clue how smart that was. So it’s just Wendy, Mike and I along with B&M. after 20 minutes Wendy, Mike and I escape. What a load of crap. Just goes to show a sundance winner and 8 Oscar nominations means diddly squat. Just like a Michelin star means bugger all so does any such nominations, it is a sure indication of best avoided. As we leave a lady asks us why we’re leaving? We tell her we think it’s crap, she agrees with us, and gives us our tickets back.
So it’s back to Mikes for some awesome Courvoiser XO and watch Suits. Shitin in the tall cotton yet again here in our bubble in paradise.
Monday, 16 February 2026
Pickle Ball to start the day.
Lazy afternoon and then in the evening we got to Black Rock with B&M. Great meal.
Katies Hopkins on Labour
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=you%20tube%20katie%20hopkins%20labour&view=detail&mid=6869537EB63C669594416869537EB63C66959441&ajaxhist=0
Tuesday, 17 February 2026
Lazy morning. In the afternoon we go over to M&L’s to play Rummikub. What a fun game it is.
In the evening we head over to Midway, to Cubby’s. I’ve been mythering about it for weeks. Turns out it’s still a work in progress. Drive up past the Mercantile to another I’ve wanted to try. What a disaster, they couldn’t even make a decent sandwich.
Wednesday, 18 February 2026
At last it’s snowing. Proper snow. Wendy’s at the Christian Centre. Mike and I are at a loose end so despite the winter storm we set off down to the archery range in Salt Lake. Pick up Marianne on the way. Well I’ve been bemoaning that I wanted to see some proper snow before we left. What better than driving on I80 over Parley’s Summit. Fortunately Mikes car has 4 wheel drive and snow tires. Unlike the dickheads causing chaos on I80, two wheel drives with no snow tires, spinning out everywhere. It’s like a war zone. Certainly made me appreciate the value and importance of 4 wheel drive and snow tires.
Takes us 2 hours to complete a 40 minute journey. Coming back wasn’t much better. Pick Wendy up at Michaels, who had taken shelter there. Then we drive over to the Back 40 at Heber. It was a different world there, no snow. A great meal at Back 40, so we now have 7 restaurants on our top list.
Then we drive Marianne back home. Finally make it home after nearly 6 hours driving.
Thursday, 19 February 2026
Lazy day after the trauma of I80. But at lease it now looks like a ski resort, even if it’s only 8″ of snow. But whites better than brown.
In the evening Mike takes us to Black Rock for dinner. Great meal with French onion soup to start – love it but eating it with dignity is difficult, someone needs to invent French Onion soup scissors. Main course was beef stroganoff – delicious. Wendy’s chicken was tough but complaint got a 50% reduction.
Friday, 20 February 2026
No pickleball because the rug rats are off school. Wendy’s at the Christian Centre.
Friday afternoon is bowling with Mike, Marianne and Arnie.
In the evening we’re off to Carols for a farewell dinner of Raclett – awesome.
Oh, strap in, folks—because if the last round of multicultural madness wasn’t enough to make you spit-take your Earl Grey, let’s crank the satire dial to “nuclear” and dissect this latest gem from the Defra diversity brigade. Remember, we’re talking about a £110,000+ taxpayer-funded, my money, crusade to “de-whiten” the British countryside because, apparently, the biggest threat to our green and pleasant land isn’t climate change, urban sprawl, or overgrazing—it’s the audacity of native Brits enjoying a ramble without a mandatory quota of cultural auditors in tow. But wait, there’s more: enter the dogs. Yes, those filthy, haram hounds that dare to exist in a nation where “inclusivity” means bending over backwards until your spine snaps.
What’s wrong with dogs, you ask? Absolutely bugger all, that’s what. Man’s best friend—loyal, slobbery guardians of hearth and home, who’ll fetch your slippers, scare off burglars, and love you unconditionally even if you’re a useless lump on the sofa. But oh no, in the grand theatre of multicultural accommodation, dogs are now Public Enemy Number One because certain imported sensitivities deem them “unclean.” Unclean! As if Fido’s the one plotting world domination while plotting a route to the nearest fire hydrant. If Muslims—or anyone else—don’t like dogs (or pigs, for that matter, those oinkers who’ve been bacon-ing up British breakfasts since the Romans were here), tough shit indeed. This is Britain, not a bespoke caliphate. We’ve got centuries of tradition involving muddy paws, pub gardens with pooches, and yes, the occasional pork pie at a village fete. You don’t get to waltz in, demand the host nation remodel its entire ecosystem around your medieval taboos, and then cry “Islamophobia” when someone points out that integration means adapting, not dictating.
But let’s not sugarcoat it: this isn’t about dogs or pigs or even the Cotswolds’ alleged “whiteness.” It’s the smoking gun of multiculturalism’s epic failure—the relentless, one-way street where the majority culture is forever on the back foot, apologising for existing while minority groups (and let’s be blunt, we’re talking about a specific subset here) refuse to integrate, incubate separatist enclaves, and nurture dreams of global conquest that make Genghis Khan look like a peacenik. Muslims don’t integrate? Understatement of the millennium. We’ve got no-go zones in cities where Sharia patrols harass women for showing ankle, parallel legal systems that treat honour killings like a cultural quirk, and a steady drip-feed of sermons preaching that the infidels’ lands are ripe for the taking. World domination? It’s not a conspiracy theory when it’s straight out of the holy texts and echoed in mosques from Luton to Lahore. “Make the world submit” isn’t a metaphor; it’s a mission statement, complete with demographic warfare via birth rates that would make rabbits blush and welfare systems milked like sacred cows.
And Defra’s genius plan? Tighten dog controls in national parks because unleashed Labs might “trigger” newcomers who see them as demonic. Brilliant—let’s alienate the taxpaying locals who’ve preserved these landscapes for generations, all to lure in urbanites who, by their own admission, view the countryside as a “colonial white space” and prefer concrete jungles where halal butchers outnumber bookshops. Why stop there? Ban bacon sarnies at picnic sites? Install prayer rooms in every hedgerow? Rebrand Stonehenge as a “multifaith heritage site” with mandatory hijab options for the solstice? It’s the political class’s wet dream: virtue-signal until the last vestige of British identity is erased, then pat themselves on the back for “progress” while the nation fractures into tribal fiefdoms.
Multiculturalism isn’t a melting pot; it’s a pressure cooker with the lid welded shut, waiting to blow. It promises harmony but delivers balkanisation, where every concession to non-integration just emboldens the next demand. Dogs? Pigs? They’re just the canaries in the coal mine. Next it’ll be alcohol bans in villages, gender-segregated footpaths, and diversity officers fining you for flying the St. George’s Cross because it “offends.” If you don’t like it, integrate or emigrate—simple as that. But no, we’ll keep funding reports like Defra’s, pouring millions into making the countryside “relevant” to people who couldn’t care less, all while the real Brits pack up their wellies and retreat to the few unspoiled corners left.
Congratulations, Whitehall wizards—you’ve turned a national treasure into a farce, proving once again that multiculturalism doesn’t fail upward; it just drags everything down to the lowest common denominator of resentment and regression. Pass the leash; someone’s got to walk the dog before it’s declared a hate crime.
So tough shit, if minorities aren’t attracted to our country side don’t go there, or better still LEAVE.
Saturday, 21 February 2026
Leave Mikes after a weeks stay and return to 163. Not too traumatic, just live out of suitcases.
Saturday night is Ice Hockey watching the Outliers play at Black Rock. Fun game with Michael, Marianne and Arnie. There’s plenty of action, crashes and a few penalties for bad behavior. Not as professional as the Olympic teams but plenty of action and goals. Outliers win 5 to 2.
The phrase “cut a shine” is a dated, primarily US slang expression, dating back to at least 1819, that means to make a fine impression by making a show or display. It is often used to describe someone who is putting on a display to impress others, or sometimes, in specific regional contexts (like Appalachia), to make a fuss or behave unseemly.
Key Aspects of “Cut a Shine” and Making a Good Impression:
* Definition: To “cut a shine” is to make a, typically, flashy or impressive show.
* Context: It is used when someone acts “ugly” (acts up) or, conversely, puts on a great performance to be noticed.
* “Take a Shine”: A related, more commonly used phrase is “to take a shine to someone” which means to like someone immediately or to start liking them.
* Alternative Definition: In some regional dialects, particularly in Appalachia, this phrase can also imply causing a commotion or acting in an unseemly manner.
Sunday, 22 February 2026
Lazy morning, Wendy and I do a short walk. Then in the afternoon Mike and I do a 2 mile walk. Weather is a gorgeous blue sky spring day.
In the evening Mike, Wendy, J&D and I are off round to Mariannes for dinner. Great food, wine and company.
Monday, 23 February 2026
Pickle ball is back on in the morning, some good games.
Lazy afternoon, then in the evening we’re off to our favourite restaurant, Blue Boar, with M&L.
Tuesday, 24 February 2026
Lazy and wet morning.
In the afternoon Marianne, Mike and I go bowling. Wow, the place is deserted. Good time to go.
Meet up with B&M, S&B, Marianne, Mike and Sylvia for tea at the Spitz Mediterranean restaurant for a farewell dinner.
Food was ok but will not make the top 7.
Wednesday, 25 February 2026
Up at the crack of Sparrows fart as Mike picks us up and whisks us down SLC airport.
We manage to blague our way into the Delta lounge. Good breakfast and a Long Island Iced tea. Good job as we’ve a 4 hour wait. We’d set off early in anticipation of massive delays at TSA as thanks to congress dispute they are not getting paid. Turns out no delays and very smooth.
Delta flight wasn’t too bad, reasonably comfortable.
Blague our way into the Delta lounge at Atlanta. Great food, have my tea there rather than airline food. 3 Iced teas and an old fashioned and I’m ready for the flight. A sleeping tablet and a couple of Proseccos and I’m asleep, pass on the dinner. A double Cognac is a welcome disturb to me my sleep and then I’m back in the land of nod for the rest of the flight.
And a final thought for my February blog, because apparently, we all need a little reminder of why modern life is such a delightful farce.
Next time you’re trapped in that soul-crushing TSA conga line from the ninth circle of hell—belt yanked off like you’re auditioning for a striptease; shoes banished to the bin as if your loafers are plotting a coup; iPad exhumed from its bag like buried treasure; and oh, the eternal dilemmas: “Can I keep my underpants on, or are they harboring WMDs? Are my glasses a stealth weapon, or just a gateway to clearer vision of this absurdity? Will my innocent tray get the third degree, complete with rubber gloves and a stern glare?”
Just pause amid the beep-beep symphony of scanners and remember: this exquisite ritual of public humiliation is all courtesy of some 7th-century Muslim cave-dweller in a rag headwrap, masterminding chaos from his rocky Airbnb. Ah yes, let’s not forget the culprit religion pulling the strings—Islam, that darling “religion of peace” that’s perpetually offended while handing out lessons in eternal grudges. Peace? More like a violent ideology with a PhD in world domination fantasies, dressed up in holy robes to fool the gullible.
Maybe we should jazz up those airport screens and relieve the boredom with a looping slideshow reminding weary travellers of why they’re in the Conga line; heartwarming photos of all the barbaric acts of Islam from child brides, stoning, wife beating and not forgetting videos of 9/11’s finest moments, just to keep the vibe alive. Because nothing says “enhanced security” like a daily dose of 7th-century barbarism porn, reminding us all how one backward ideology posing a religion turned air travel into a bad BDSM session. Cheers to progress!
