After a decent night's
kip I woke and turned awkwardly. Somehow I managed to pull a muscle
in my neck, and it's been aching ever since. Over brekkie I watched
the episode of "Family Guy" through which I slept
yesterday. As I watched it I combed "Furry Face TM";
his recovery is odd. He's rather reluctant to be picked up, which
makes me think his back still hurts. And then he chases around the
garden like a thing possessed which makes me think he's on the mend.
SInce he had been chasing
around the garden like a thing possessed earlier, I decided to take
him for a little walk this morning before work. Comapred to our usual
walks this wasn't much at all; usually we would be out for over an
hour; today we only went to the off-licence and back. It was a stroll
of about two hundred yards, and at the end he wanted to keep going.
But we'll start gently. Once home he started whinging at an empty pop
bottle; I gave it to him and he took it to the garden where he
started savaging it.
With time on my hands I
then sterilised the kit for syphoning the beer I'm currently brewing
and put some washing in to wash and then to dry. Whilst my
woolie-pullies were on the spin cycle and my dog was outside I
thought I'd have five minutes sax practice. Despite slipped discs,
"Furry Face TM" was there as quick
as a flash and was howling along.
Eventually it was time to
go to work. As I drove to work I listened to the radio. I know I
shouldn't. It seems the public are up
in arms about immigration again. The defence secretary has gone
on record as saying that "British towns are "under
siege" after being "swamped" by EU immigrants".
He might have a point, but why is that? When one advertises a vacancy
and there is not a single applicant from a UK resident, what should
one do? There are several firms locally with that problem. It's such
a shame that such xenophobia seems to be a vote-winner; look at how
well UKIP are doing in the polls despite having no policies at all
and despite forming alliances in Europe with racists
and holocaust-deniers.
I took a detour to take
the fragments of the old ironing board to the tip; it was only when I
got there that I remembered that I had a *lot* of other rubbish I
should have taken with me as well.
And then I looked at
getting myself a replacement ironing board. Several people had
suggested I try Dunelm Mill; I drove there, and after fifteen minutes
of wandering randomly around the place I eventually discovered a
disinterested assistant. I asked her about ironing boards; she
vaguely waved her hands in the general direction of some stairs. She
didn't *actually* say "get knotted baldy", but that
was definitely the vibe I picked up. I went up those stairs at which
she had waved, and, after having been mistaken for an assistant
several times by other customers (equally in need of assistance),
I finally found ironing boards priced at eighty quid each.
Having scraped out my
pants (the price had been something of a shock) I drove to the
nearby cheapo-bargains shop where I got substantially the same
ironing board for only fifteen quid. That saving of sixty-five pounds
will come in handy.
I also got some jollop to
un-bung the drains; the bath has been taking too long to empty just
lately.
I went to work; I did my
bit. Over lunchtime I blew my saxophone unaccompanied by a certain
small dog. I can now do the first two bits of "Baker Street";
"Amazing Grace" is better than it was, and I'm
finally getting to grips with "Goose on the Razzle".
I've had some enquiries about this tune; I can now confidently say
that it goes "da-da-da-daaa, da-da-da-daa-a-a" then
it goes a bit fancy, then some more "da-da"s and
then I get stuck. But I think I'm good for the first two thirds of
the tune now.
And then after what
seemed a rather long day (I blame the clocks going back) I
came home and poured my unblocking jollop down the plug hole in the
bath. It didn't seem to do much good.
And having got that new
ironing board home it looks rather small...
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