1 December 2013 (Sunday) - Blurred

Last night I whinged that someone had deleted one of my geocaching logs. I asked the chap why he'd done that, and he replied that he'd gone out to the cache in question, checked the piece of paper inside and he maintained that he'd not seen my signature. Now I don't remember all two thousand five hundred and ninety seven (not that I'm counting) of the logs that I've signed, but I did remember this one. I went to that place first in October 2012 with HSL1 - I blogged about the day, And I subsequently went back with er indoors TM" on my mother's birthday when I remembered seeing my name on the log. I also returned at another point with Suzy's assistant (patent pending) and again remember pointing out my squiggle on that occasion too.
So I asked this chap for a photo of the log entry from the date in question, and within an hour a reply came through that he'd made a mistake, "MB" had been inscribed all along, and the fellow said that I could re-write my log. So I did that with a sense of self-righteous indignation.
It's silly how such a trivial incident of no real importance boiled my piss so much. I mentioned this episode on on-line geocaching forums, and it turns out that quite a few people who own geocaches do go out and read the paper logs. And (amazingly) they really do check that people who claim they've found the things on-line have actually done so. Can you believe it? As if wasting a life hunting for sandwich boxes in the wilderness isn't enough.
Their long winter evenings must just fly by...

As always my dog helped me with my toast as I watched episodes of "Family Guy" over brekkie. It's a show of which I've seen odd episodes now and then. I really should get the DVDs; they are relatively cheap in the CEX shop.
And I checked out social media. Yesterday I missed a charity fundraiser I'd been intending to get to. A shame - I'd actually been looking forward to that as being the start of the Christmas season. I was rather disappointed not to have got along to show my support.

To work - I quite look forward to the drive to work when I am working on Sundays. Rather than milking sensation from the trivia of the day, on a Sunday the radio is usually of a more philosophical and pensive tone. Usually. Today was something of a disappointment. The Catholic Church in Scotland is (apparently) rooting out the bad apples in it's own barrel. A laudable undertaking; but there is a fine line between weeding out evil and actively going on a witch-hunt. The radio actually featured a short interview with someone who had been chastised for hugging a small child (which had been in church care) when said child was crying. I used to hug the some of the cubs (as a scout leader) when they were especially upset or tearful. Was that wrong? Should I expect to be crucified in the popular press for having done so?
I suppose that this is nothing more than a sad sign of our times.
After the news, which dragged on interminably this morning, was the radio's church service. Often uplifting; today's was best described as dreary. With the beginning of advent I was hoping for cheery Christmas carols. I was disappointed.

Once at work I did my bit. Over lunch I got a message. er indoors TM" had taken "Furry Face TM" for a walk, and apparently not only had my dog eaten something disgusting, he'd rolled in fox dung as well. I don't know what I was supposed to do from a distance of twenty miles; all I could do was to hope that someone else would have hosed the fox poo off of him long before I came home.

Once home I opened the first window of my lego advent calendar, I wonder where this will go this year...

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