8 September 2015 (Tuesday) - Another Late Shift

A somewhat restless night. Somehow I managed to escape from the duvet and woke up shivering at 3am. Over brekkie I sparked up the lap-top and had a look at social media. I had a friend request on Facebook from Amy Sabatino (who?) She lives in Georgia and sells geocaches. Her on-line presence seems to be aimed at selling stuff. I already follow too many people I barely know on social media. I don't really need any more. And certainly not someone four thousand miles away who only exists (on-line) to sell stuff.
Mind you three people on my list have already added her. Why do people do this?

On the plus side I was asked if I would organise the Kent cachers' New Year's Day event. I was quite flattered to be asked to do that.
Once I finalise my Bethersden geo-project I shall make a start on this one. I need to sort out a circular walk of about three to four miles starting and ending at a local pub. I had a few ideas where to have this. However doing this locally is proving to be rather problematical. Everywhere I look on the map is blocked off by old caches which really should have been left to die but have been resurrected even though no one actually goes to them any more. I've asked if two such caches could be sent to tupperware heaven and been told (quite comprehensively) to get stuffed.

I took "Furry Face TM" round the park for a bit of a walk. After humping a Yorkie we had a little chat with a chap who was walking a terrier of some description. This chap launched into an epic tirade about how nasty the local Huskies are; pointing at what he thought was a passing Huskie. It was actually a Malamute, but I didn't have the heart to tell him though.

We came home, I settled my dog, and I set off to Folkestone to see the littlun. (And his entourage). As I drove I listened to the radio. After fifteen minutes I realised that all I could hear was "blah, blah, blah"; I had no idea what they were talking about. So I turned it off and squalled along to my frankly excellent choice in music.

I got to Folkestone, had a cup of chino, and watched littun's antics. He's not too keen to be held for too long any more. He prefers to run riot on the floor. He can now stand up without any support or help getting up. Walking can only be days away.
Whilst I was there I loaded up the car with more assorted stuff to be put into storage (i.e. my spare bedroom) and set off to Canterbury.

As I drove I again turned on the radio, and again all I could hear was "blah, blah, blah" so I again turned it off and had a little sing-song as I drove. I got to work, did my bit, and came home to find out nutty neigbour ranting at the people who run the shop over the road. He was loudly telling them (and anyone else who would listen) that he hates the English and would like someone to introduce him to the millionaire Russian oligarch who owns their shop so that he could become one of the oligarch's men.
He then staggered off (clearly very drunk) and spent the rest of the evening shouting very loudly at either his wife or the voices in his head...

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