18 November 2012 (Sunday) - More Dull
Up far earlier than I would normally be on a Sunday. Over a spot of brekkie I checked out what was going on in the World Wide Wubbish. One of the Facebook groups to which I subscribe had some worrying news. Worrying, but realistically a sad sign of the times. The Queens Head pub in Rye has closed down. In more affluent times I would go to Rye for something of a pub crawl a few times every year. There are some good pubs in Rye. Or that is there used to be some good pubs in Rye. The Queens Head was one such - the only place in which I've ever seen a FILO beer on the hand pump outside of the FILO itself. And now the Queens Head has closed for the last time. Last week at Rye bonfire parade I saw that another old favourite, The Union Inn, had shut down as well. It's all rather sad really. But, as I've said before, in this new world order of austerity when I can brew five gallons of half-decent ale at home for the price of half a gallon in the pub I'm not going to give them my money. A few years ago I was quite the connoisseur of local pubs. A few years ago I was over five stone heavier...
Having fussed Fudge, ignored the washing up, and done my early morning fiddling about I set off to work. After ten minutes I turned the car round and came back for my packed lunch. Woops!
As I drove I listened to the morning's church service on the radio. Whilst on the way to work one Sunday earlier in the year I heard one such service which I found to be quite spiritual and uplifting. However since then whenever I've listened to the Sunday service I've found them to be something of a disappointment in comparison. This morning's service was one of the better ones, and was quite interesting. It was celebrating (if that is the right word) national prisons week It was interesting that this service was aired immediately after a news item about whether or not prisoners should have the vote. The Prime Minister has taken the line of "over his dead body". Which is rather confrontational.
And in making that statement he conforms to the stereotype attitude so prevalent these days. It always amazes me that prisons and prisoners are something about which everyone has very strong opinions, but (generally) very little experience. It's common knowledge how sort life is in prison. Or that is it's common knowledge to those who don't actually know anything. With two good friends of mine having been sentenced to prison for crimes for which a gently smacked bun would have been more appropriate, I've found out (albeit vicariously) just how harsh the penal system can be. And there's no denying that my experiences of having visited a prison over a period of a year have certainly changed my opinion of the entire penal system. The morning's service on the radio featured an interview with a prisoner who described prison as somewhere where he could only survive by being friendly to everyone but being friends with no one. I would not want anyone to spend any time in such an atmosphere.
And so to work where I did my bit. Whilst continually looking out of the window at the glorious day outside. I would rather have been out and about with family and friends today. Days off mid-week are very good provided there is someone else to do things with. Having said that, it was probably as well that I was working today or I would have been tempted to have set up a stall to flog paintings at the afternoon's psychic fair. I've been to two of those so far and have (just about) covered my costs. As the day progressed I had a few texts from family and friends telling me about what I was missing. Including missing Fudge slipping the lead and running riot in a field of sheep. From what I can determine the problem wasn't so much with the pestilential pup as operator error. It seemed to me that his lead had not been attached to his collar but to the flimsy link holding his I.D. tag in place. That's one mistake that won't happen again.
Also being working meant I got to miss Fudge's first bath (he usually has a shower), and I got to miss the spectacle of Fudge eating a tennis ball. I got him the ball last week- I thought he'd like to play with a ball. He thought he'd like to eat it. That dog has no sense. Having eaten something which gave him the gut-rot last Monday (and put him off food for two days!) I caught him trying to eat a dead mouse on Friday's walk and today he ate a tennis ball. In the past he's eaten his own bed. The strangest thing about his eating habits is that he's not actually a greedy dog. He will leave half of his meals to eat a bit later; there is often some of his brekkie still in the bowl at mid-afternoon which he will come back to later when the mood takes him.
Wish I could do that with my brekkie...