22 May 2015 (Friday) - Greenhill

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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