My heart leapt when I came across the word darg in the dictionary.
A darg...that is just so obviously the name of an alien life-form. An enemy alien life-form. Something slightly mechanical. The kind of terrible beings who vaporise people and never even consider taking afternoon tea.
(Actually, why is afternoon tea so seldom a part of people's reaction to an alien invasion? Next time we get invaded it must be worth a try. Whose hearts aren't softened by an offer of scones with cream and jam piled on top?
Err...beings without hearts, probably. Ah well.)
Anyway, to get back to darg. This word is Scots and Northern British, and a darg is a day's work. If you can fill the unforgiving minute/With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, and all that.
Well, I can certainly do sixty seconds of working. But a whole day of just...working?
I think, personally, I've arrived back at the great importance of afternoon tea.
Milk, no sugar, please.
Thing To Do Today: a darg. This is a squashed-up version of day's work.