It turned out that yesterday wasn’t the end of the world; the yellow sky was caused by Saharan sand picked up by the hurricane that hit Ireland. These “end of the world”s are usually something of a disappointment.
Over brekkie my dog cuddled up with me; he has been rather soppy these last few days. As he snored I watched an old episode of “Dad’s Army”; it passed the time. I then quickly sparked up my lap-top and peered into cyber-space. Apart from friends going off on holiday, not much had happened overnight really.
I set off to work. As I drove the pundits on the radio were talking about hate crimes. Apparently the reporting of hate crime is on the increase, but the rate of successful prosecutions in these cases are falling. I sometimes wonder if all of these so-called “hate crimes” really are what they are billed to be. I can remember a chap at work who was accused of one of these hate crimes. He was accused of being very terse and impatient with one particular chap. At the formal hearing the chap bringing the allegation claimed he was being victimised because of the colour of his skin. The accused pointed out that his own wife was of the same ethnic minority as the chap bringing the allegation. The accused went on to say he wasn’t being terse and impatient because the supposed victim was of an ethnic minority; he was being terse and impatient because the chap bringing the accusation was incredibly stupid. Documentary evidence of said stupidity was presented… it all got rather nasty.
I’m not saying that all hate crime is like this. I am saying that it is easy to accuse.
I finally got to work; it took over an hour and a half. I had a rather good day but for one phone call. Someone phoned wanting to know their blood group. It is policy not to give any blood test results directly to patients, or even to admit that a test has been done. We have no way of knowing that they aren’t a nosey neighbour, and the simple knowledge that a blood test might or might not have been done breaches all sorts of confidentiality. However this person was adamant I told her what her blood group was. Her friend’s child had chickenpox and she needed to know her blood group to know whether or not she was immune to chickenpox.
Most laymen would think blood groups – immunity to chickenpox WTF ?!?!
A laboratory full of biomedical scientists with a combined experience of over a hundred years thought that too.
With work done I came home. The roads were slightly better coming home; it only took an hour and a quarter. I came home to an empty house; "er indoors TM" had got home first and had taken the hounds for a walk. The house is eerily quiet without them.
I got a message. They were delayed as Fudge had wandered off in the dark as he does. Eventually he was located and they came home.
Usually on a Tuesday the clans would gather, but seeing how this would be the only night both of us would be home this evening we stayed in. We cracked open a twenty-quid bottle of plonk and watched yesterday’s episode of “Star Trek: Discovery”. It was clearly written by people who’ve seen a lot of Star Trek; there are so many references to what has gone before. *But* no one has said “f…” in Star Trek before.
We then watched tonight’s episode of “Bake Off”. Bedfordshire clangers ?...
I slept like a log last night, but I did wake with a sore left leg. I must have really knacked it yesterday.
Note I say “must have” and not “must of”. It seems to me that most of humanity are using the word “of” when they should be using the word “have”. A trivial point, maybe, but it boils my piss.
Over brekkie I had a look at the Internet. Not much had changed overnight. I avoided most of the spoilers for the new episode of “Star Trek: Discovery” that was aired overnight. But only most of them.
My piss boiled somewhat as I read one chap’s posts on Facebook. Transmitting to the world from his hospital bed, all he could do was find fault with the place. I don’t know which hospital he is in. I’m sure he has every right to find fault with the place, but my personal feeling is that if anyone is unhappy with what they get from the NHS they should piss off and see what they get from the private sector for the same price.
I put the leads onto the hounds and we went for a little wander round the park. As we walked Treacle cowered in terror from a spaniel. The woman walking the spaniel is relatively new on the Viccie Park dog walking scene. We got chatting; she pointed out Fudge who was fifty yards behind and doing his own thing in a bush (as he does). She said that she often saw that little dog on his own in the park, and she hoped he was OK. It was rather embarrassing to have to say that he was with me. I wonder how many other people think he’s a stray because he straggles so far behind all the time.
We also saw OrangeHead (on her own again) wearing Wellington boots. I wonder if she knew something we didn’t.
As I walked my back was really painful…
We came home, and I did the dogs’ monthly flea treatments. Fudge has never minded his; Treacle didn’t seem happy about it. And with fleas hopefully repelled for another month I watched last night’s episode of “Victoria”. It was the last one of the current series. I’ve liked the show, and I’ve found myself looking up quite a bit of what happened on the show on the internet to see how historically accurate it has been.
I must admit I don’t know that much history. At school our history teacher was crap. His idea of teaching history was to have you copy out a text book; we did this twice a week until class 4B got too much for him and he got taken (by ambulance) from the school to the nut house. Consequently I gave up studying history at the earliest opportunity.
I think I probably missed quite a bit in doing so.
I set off for work. As I drove to work there was a documentary on the radio about the total hash that Britain and the winners of the first world war made in the discussions sorting out the aftermath of the war. I always thought the war ended in 1918; apparently in some parts of the world it effectively dragged on until 1923, or so those presenting the radio show would have us believe. The implication was that the winners should have waited for the war to actually end before divvying up the spoils.
The show was presented by the grand-daughter of someone who was on the committee that did the actual divvying up; she claimed that her granddad was ignored by the rest of the committee . But if everyone had listened to her granddad, then the world today would be a much better place.
Having had episodes with committees in the past, I can sympathise with her. Mind you having had a granddad myself (as well as actually being one), I'm not sure that they are always the best of people to listen to. (I can remember my granddad being very vociferous about opticians being a rip-off as there are only two lenses that fit the human eye (!), and he used to get his car serviced in Ham Street as he'd fallen out with every garage closer to his home in Hastings. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see him looking back at me.)
This (the radio, not my granddad) was followed by some lesbian comedian who was ranting about the idiocy of the hobby of hill walking. She was rather amusing, but I felt that her sexual orientation was a matter of the utmost indifference to me. Why did she have to keep mentioning it ad nauseum. OK so she's got a wife. So have I.
I took a little diversion on my way to work. Yesterday I'd had a stroke of genius and had solved a geo-puzzle. Today I drove to the general vicinity of Maidstone's Park & Ride and rummaged suspiciously in a hedge for ten minutes until I found the geocache I sought. This one was actually quite clever; it involved playing a reverse game of ker-plunk. I was so impressed that I used this as a reason to have a celebratory McDonalds.
I had an entertaining time at the counter when I got there. I wanted crispy strips. Oh dear... the girl behind the till was not impressed. "Crispy strips" is a KFC thing. McDonalds have "chicken select". In reality "crispy strips" and "chicken select" are exactly the same things, but calling it by the name used by the opposition is fighting talk. It's like ice-creams. I dare you to go up to a Mr Smoothie ice cream van and ask for a Whippy. I did once; I nearly got a punch up the throat.
And so to work. We had a rather good day; if somewhat worrying. Due to some untoward meteorological phenomenon (i.e. funny weather) the sky was an odd shade of yellow for much of the afternoon. We spent much of the time peering out of the blood bank's window wondering if it was the end of the world.
I hope it isn't. I'll let you know tomorrow...
We had a slightly later start than usual today; probably for the best bearing in mind the late night we’d had. As I scoffed toast my stomach was gurgling; I blame the last pint last night; I thought it was a tad dodgy.
My piss boiled somewhat as I looked at Facebook. A friend had posted one of these made-up memes about how illegal immigrants live high on the hog whilst pensioners haven’t got a pot to piss in.
It took about thirty seconds to come up with the truth of the matter, but I can’t help but wonder why people post such hateful racist rubbish. Perhaps people are frightened of foreigners? Perhaps working in a hospital means I get to meet a wider range of people than most? However I will say that when I’m walking home from the car late at night I feel far safer walking past the Polish drinking beer outside the corner shop than I do coming by the British thugs by the KFC. And when my car broke down it was the immigrant community that stopped and helped me.
We got our gear (and dogs) together and was just about to set off to Gravesend when the phone rang. Our usual walking buddies weren’t able to come out to play today; they’d just got to their car and found that overnight someone had broken in to their car and garage. It later turned out that nearly a dozen garages had been done in the area.
I don’t know what boils my piss more, either the fact that organised mobs of scumbags are out stealing from decent people, or that the police still hadn’t shown their faces to investigate by five o’clock in the evening.
So being on our own we decided to change our plans. We thought we’d save the Gravesend walk for when we could all be together, and instead we went to hunt for Tupperware along a little series of geocaches in East Peckham (Maidstone, not London) that Karl and Tracy had done over the summer.
We started off with a bit of a mystery. At the location of the first cache we found two caches. Both relatively new, both rather obvious (if you know what to look for), both about a foot apart. I wonder what was going on there?
We then carried on down the hill, and followed footpaths and lanes for about four miles. We climbed trees, we jumped ditches, we heard skylarks singing, we even saw a frog doing his thing. It was only a shame that I tripped on some ground level barbed wire. For all that the fall put me into a bit of a strop it was probably very funny to watch; just a shame that no one saw it. As "My Boy TM" would say, I hit the ground like a rubber duck. I managed to wrench a knee which was already rather painful, got myself a rather nasty gash up the back of my leg, and I think I’ve bruised a rib or two.
And then I got bogged down in a swamp...
As we drove home "Daddy’s Little Angel TM" phoned, and we went round to hers for a cuppa and to scoff the cakes we’d taken on our walk with us for lunch but hadn’t eaten. She didn’t see that the cakes went past their best last week, but Bakewell tarts don’t go off, do they?
She asked if we wanted to stay for dinner; we decided against it. Probably for the best as I later got a message from her saying that her jambalaya was vile, and they had cheese on toast for dinner instead. Apparently "Stormageddon - Bringer of Destruction TM" wouldn’t even touch the stuff.
Once home I sparked up the lap-top. I took a few photos as we walked, and I uploaded them. I do that. "er indoors TM" boiled up a rather good bit of dinner, and with that scoffed she went off bowling. With both dogs worn out from the afternoon’s walk I settled in front of the telly and watched more “Gotham”. I do like that show, but today I realised that (as with any prequel) you know the heroes aren’t going to die so the perilous scenes are rather wasted.
I really should polish my walking boots…