10 June 2015 (Wednesday) - New Grand-Dog
Finding myself falling asleep in front of the telly I had another early night last night, and slept through till 7am. Admittedly I did a couple of night shifts last week, but this is now getting somewhat excessive. I wonder if I'm sickening for something.
I didn't watch any lame telly over brekkie; instead I checked out social media on a lap-top which was gracious enough to work (after a fashion). I've noticed that more and more I give but a glance to the Facebook antics of family and close friends, but am absolutely enthralled by the postings of those I don't really know very well. In fact it might be time to prune the Facebook list again; there are several names on it that I do not recognise at all.
I then took "Furry Face TM" for a little walk. I wonder if he's sickening for something too. He didn't get up this morning as I scoffed brekkie, and I've noticed that when he walks he sems to be very stiff in his movements. Am I walking him too much?
As we walked we saw something odd; OrangeHead's dog, but not with OrangeHead. Said dog was with a rather odd-looking chap who seemed to be either two feet too tall or several stones underweight and was sporting an ill-fitting beard. "Son of Orangehead" perhaps? Are such things possible?
I went to work via a visit to the first fruit of my loin. They've got a new puppy. "Rolo" is quite the little cutie; even if he should really have been called "Dave". I spent a little while fussing him.
"My Boy TM" had words to say about the little dog not being toilet trained. I've made the prediction that the puppy will be toilet trained far quicker than "My Boy TM" ever was.
The first fruit of my loin wasn't happy with that act of clairvoyance
As I drove to Canterbury the radio had a documentary about Ernest Holloway Oldham who worked for the Foreign Office in the 1920s and 1930s and at the time was selling British secrets to the Russians for financial gain.
Apparently the Russians were paying him the eaquivalent of thousands of pounds each week which he was spending on drink. Didn't anyone notice how pissed this chap was on a regular basis?
A new geocache had gone live right on my way to work; I stopped off to get it whilst passing. I narrowly missed being first to find; I nearly didn't get it; fortunately the clue said exactly where it was. The GPS was taking me some thirty yards away.
I've politely suggested that the person who hid it might like to re-visit their GPS-ing. Mind you I'm pretty sure I know what's happening here. This new cache is a direct replacement for one which used to be in that area and went missing. They've put out a new one in a better hiding place but used the old co-ordinates.
With a little time still on my hands I then went to have a look round "Go Outdoors". For all that my GPS unit was a serious bargain, their clothes aren't cheap. Does anyone *really* pay twenty quid for a T-shirt?
And so to work. The boss took the afternoon off, and for a few hours I was "The Numero Uno Honcho with Authoritah" or so it was announced. I've been "The Numero Uno Honcho with Authoritah" before. I don't really like it very much. It's all very well all the time everything is peachy, but things soon go sour when the poop hits the propellors.
I got round the difficulties by appointing "A Numero Due Honchette with Authoritah" - no one messed with her....
I was glad to get home this evening. A late shift had made for a rather late finish and time never drags quite so much as when the elastic in your undercrackers has given up the ghost. Those undercrackers are now in the bin (thank heavens!)
It's not the first time I've dinged pants; I'm getting quite low on the things. I shall visit Asda at some point...