8 April 2014 (Tuesday) - On The Other Peg

Last night I put on my oximeter and went to sleep. It wasn't especially comfortable. The thing got more uncomfortable as the night went on; by 3am it felt like my finger was in a vice. I spent the last hour or so in serious pain before finally pulling it off shortly before 6am.
Family Guy and South Park kept me entertained over brekkie, then I set off to work where the radio was less entertaining and more annoying. There was concern expressed about how nothing is really being done to combat global warming, and how by the end of the century the planet will be (on average) four degrees warmer than it is now. That being an average figure it means there will be whole swathes left uninhabitable.
No one really seemed bothered.
Mind you everyone seemed to be incensed at the Culture Secretary. From what I could work out she's made the most of a rather vague system of claiming expenses; and having been told she'd arguably taken the piss, she apologised about any offence caused and paid back what others said she'd overclaimed. Boris Johnson, the Mayor of London, was on the radio refusing to condemn her as she'd not actually done wrong.
The Communities Secretary Eric Pickles was launching a scathing attack on active atheists; claiming and insisting that religious intolerence is purely something open to Christians.
Nero fiddles whilst Rome burns...

At work I faced something of a mystery. One of the apprentices asked me if my banana-guard had suffered any damage. The thing looked fine, and when I asked him why he should be wondering, he started giggling. As did others. I suspect my banana-guard has been used for nefarious purposes.
And the inestimable Soup-Boy announced that from now on he was going to hang his coat on the other peg. I assumed this can only be tantamount to "getting on the other bus", and I have warned him that should he be "good with colours" or found to be "baking a moist sponge" I would have no choice but to take him in hand (!) before he "bowls from the pavilion end".
The rest of the working day was rather dull after this revelation.

Once home I took "Furry Face TM" round to Frog's Island to replace a missing geocache. On the way we terrorised a bus, made friends with several toddlers, chased a Yorkie, played with a stick, and upset two skinhead thugs (complete with hand drawn mis-spelt tattoos). "Thugbert" and "Pratfred" had some sort of banned and illegal dog on a length of rope. As we came close we were warned to "keep that F*!* rat away"; the implication being that their macho dog would attack. Before I could do anything "Furry Face TM" started sniffing the murder-hound's bum. The supposedly vicious and dangerous dog started whimpering and crying and pulling to get away. I don't think they saw me laughing.

And so to Folkestone for the Tuesday conglomeration. After insults were bandied we watched Doctor Who. Or, to be more precise, Doctor Who was the show that was on the telly, but I for one was watching Nicola Bryant's epic chest. Anyone who says they don't like classic Doctor Who clearly hangs their coat on the other peg.

Let's hope that oximeter is more comfortable tonight...

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