Yesterday I mentioned
that I'd started taking prednisolone. According to wikipedia one of
the major side
effects is insomnia... After one day my nasal polyps have
noticeably shrunk. However I saw every hour of the night last night
and was up and watching "Family Guy" before 6am.
I set off to work through
a rather damp morning. As I drove the talk on the radio was on
illegal immigration into the UK.
Every day the Italian
Navy sails the Mediterranean to look for (and bring back to Italy)
people
fleeing Africa. There's about four hundred of these people
rescued every month. (and an estimated three hundred drowning in
the attempt to get across the Med every month as well). Once
brought ashore these people give the Italian authorities the slip,
make their way straight to Calais (because there are no European
border controls any more), jump on the backs of lorries and come
to Britain. Why do they go to the furthest part of Europe from where
they landed illegally? Because the benefit hand outs they will get
are better than anywhere
else in the world. Or so says the Mayor of Calais.
The Prime Minister is
under attack because no one seems to have any control on illegal
immigration into the UK however it seems to be easy enough to
count the cost
to the UK taxpayer.
Surely the answer to this
problem is simple:
Stop the Italians going
out and fetching back the illegal immigrants. Either by not sailing
out looking for them in the first place, or by taking those rescued
back to the African coast.
Beef up the security at
Calais and Dover to stop these people getting to the UK.
Apprehend these people
when they come to collect their dole and pack everyone back to the
strife-torn war zones from which they have fled. Quite
straight-forward really...(!) Mind you I can't help but wonder what I
would do if I was in fear for my life and was so desperate as to risk
everything to try to get to the UK...
Yesterday I mentioned
that a new geocache had gone live along my drive to work. I wasn't
going to play silly beggars in the dark last night, but as I drove
into Chartham this morning so the rain abated. I parked up, and after
a short walk along the cycle-path by the riverside I soon had the
cache in hand. A straight-forward find in a rather idyllic spot. And
First to Find into the bargain. Happy dance.
I got to work for the
early shift, and shifted. Lunch time was damp, but I still ventured
to the car park to practice my saxophone. Having got to my car rain
stopped play; I sat and dozed in the driver's seat whilst I played
various tunes stored on my phone.
And then after a rather
busy afternoon I drove home. Through the rain. And once home I walked
"Furry Face TM" through the rain.
Just a short walk of five minutes but he managed to woof at two
normal people and tried to fight with a taxi. He also managed to jump
on and off the sofa this evening too.
I did have the offer of a
wild night on the razzle this evening; "er indoors TM"
was off to the arky-ologee club. Contrary to rumour the thing was
not moribund and hasn't packed up from chronic apathy. Tonight they
were presenting a stunning and fascinating lecture on the manky bits
of broken pots that have been dug up locally by those with nothing
better to do.
I've often thought that
if manky bits of broken pots were actually stunning and fascinating
then they wouldn't have been left in a ditch in the first place, but
what do I know?
Bearing in mind the
terrible night's sleep I'd had last night I decided I'd rather doze
on my own sofa with my dog rather than snore in one of the
arky-ologee club's uncomfortable seats. I watched a film I'd recorded
a week or so ago. "Dog
Pound" is the story of life inside a young offender's
institution. It was rather dark, rather violent, and utterly
predictable to anyone who'd seen the British film "Scum"
which had been made some thirty years previously.
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