Yesterday I went to
Folkestone to see my Grandson. Less than a day later the news feeds
were abuzz that the place had
an earthquake overnight. Not an particularly major one, but an
earthquake none the less. Whilst hardly "San Andreas",
Folkestone's something of an earthquake zone; there was one in 2007
the tremors of which I actually felt at home somme fifteen miles
away.
Word is the family all
slept through the (literally) earth-shattering event. And
after a little research it turns out that the earthquake wasn't
actually in Folkestone at all but closer to Ramsgate. A piddling
detail perhaps, but the bottom line is that it wasn't actually that
close to nearest and dearest. This time... even if Folkestone did get
tremors.
Over brekkie my piss
boiled. As I checked out social media I saw I'd been asked to
join a campaign to stop the oil company Shell from drilling in
the Arctic. A laudible sentiment I suppose, but the chap who asked
me to sign this petition is one who regularly posts photos of himself
zooming round in a petrol-guzzling sports car. Perhaps if he swapped
that car for a bicycle, Shell wouldn't be drilling in the Arctic?
With the vagaries of my
shift system today was a rostered day off. My days off are usually
extended dog walks; earlier in the week I posted in an obscure corner
off the Internet asking if anyone was free to come for a walk with
us. Seven of us (and two dogs) went off to explore the
geo-mysteries of the countryside a mile or so inland from Herne Bay.
We didn't really get off
to an auspicious start; managing to lose (and effectively destroy)
the first geocache within seconds of finding it. And it was shortly
after this that we lost the (full) bags of dog poo. But
despite a couple of minor hiccups we had a really good walk. There
was a range of caches to be found; some rather straightforward;
others rather tricky. I was rather unbearably smug when I found the
most difficult one of the day. I was rather pleased that (by one
of those odd coincidences) that one was something of a milestone
for me; find number four thousand nine hundred. And I had a
sniggering fit when I mis-read the village sign of Bullockstone.
It was a really good day
to be out; no mud, and the sun shone on us all. All too soon the walk
was over. Sam had kindly arranged sausage sandwiches for all, but I
slipped off home. Kiraly-pup and "Furry Face TM"
had already had one ding-dong and it wouldn't have been fair on
Kiraly-pup to take Fudgey back to where she saw as her territory.
I
took a few photos whilst we were out. Once home I uploaded these,
and the phone rang. "Daddies Little Angel TM"
was hysterical. In an attempt to teach her pug (Sid) to "be
more dog" she somehow managed to rip off her fingernail.
After I finished laughing I told her to go to the local minor
injuries unit at Folkestone hospital (I once worked there you
know).
Her finger's been bodged
back together and she's to go back on Monday to get the dressing
changed.
I then spent a little
while doing some geo-preparation. Last Sunday I mentioned that I went
out round Challock planning a route for the monthly cachers' meeting
I will be hosting in August.
I spent five hours this
evening doing some of the e-paperwork to go with the event...
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