9 April 2013 (Tuesday) - Porkers
I had a very intense dream last night. About something rather trivial. I dreamed I was testing a new shaving razor. Nothing interesting or remarkable, but it was very vivid. This morning I found that the vibrating circuit in my trusty Gillette Mach III had given up the ghost. I need a new razor.
Co-incidence or premonition? If it was premonition I just wish it had been about something more interesting; something on which I might have put a bet at the bookies and won some money.
And so to work. I had planned to pick up the two new geocaches which had appeared on my route to Canterbury over the weekend. But the rain was rather heavy, so I decided against it.
Whilst on my way I pulled in at the farm shop and bought some rather expensive chutney for Friday's planned extravaganza. And to counteract having bought something worth having I then stopped off at the cheapo-bargains emporium. I like that place. No curly-wurlies this time, but chocolate frogs were available at discount rates. However it has to be said that my piss boiled a little in this shop.
Some people bother me. Take for instance several such people I encountered today in the cheapo-bargains emporium. With the entire universe to fart around in, why do epically fat people choose the smallest alleyways and gangways to stop in. Surely they could have a rest, stare into space, go into a trace or desperately gasp for air anywhere. If they are having a heart attack, then that is understandable and I will allow them that. But to choose to deliberately block up the passage of the rest of humanity in general (and me specifically) for no adequately explored reason is just anti-social.
There were several such hyper-tubsters in the shop today. *Really* fat people - so fat that they didn't walk. Instead they actually lumbered; with each step throwing their weight from side to side and then flinging a leg out to catch themselves before gravity made them collapse. All of them acting as though they were the only people in the shop; all randomly stopping whenever and wherever the voices in their head told them to pull up. Mostly at the narrowest parts of the shop; in aisles next to where shelf filling was in progress, in the doorways, wherever three other mega-lardies had already stopped to gossip. All in places where had they moved on only two more yards they wouldn't have been in anyone's way.
The fifth such porker to block my passage this morning (!) nearly (but not quite) got pushed flat on its chubby face and then trampled over. The next one certainly will be(!)
As I drove I listened to the news on the radio. I say "news" - there was no news today. Just lots of talk about the recently deceased Margaret Thatcher. Some were praising her, some reviling her. As always politics divides society. One of the morning's commentators made an interesting point - "Thatcherism" has become a political byword, "Heathism", "Majorism", "Blairism", "Brownism" and "Cameronism" have not.
Having lived through the Thatcher era I can say that I voted her in and I voted her out. And I'm sure that I speak for a lot of people when I make the comment that, like many mistakes, she seemed to be a good idea at the time.
Which is what the fat people probably thought about randomly stopping dead wherever the mood took them...