26 July 2017 (Wednesday) - Stuff
At the weekend I was whinging that the catch-up TV had forgotten every mention of the program “Uncle”. Overnight the Sky-Plus box recorded two episodes of the show. That was kind of it. I watched one over brekkie. As I watched, the puppy came downstairs looking very proud of herself; she was chewing on a plastic coat hanger. I got said plastic coat hanger off of her (before she hurt herself), but she saw that as the opening gambit in a game of “attack!” and I then spent ten minutes fending off a furry shark.
With a few minutes to spare I had a little look on Facebook. An old pub in Ashford (which has been closed for years and has had a fire) is to be demolished and a block of flats will be built on the site. Quite a few people were complaining on the local Facebook pages about how the town is losing more of its heritage. How does that work? The place was boarded up for years and looked frankly awful. And following the fire it looked like something awful that had had a fire. Is that the heritage that people want to preserve? Or are they talking about the pub itself? If people want local pubs they’ve got to use them. Much as I like a trip to the pub, it is a treat these days, not the regular occurrence it was for people all those years ago.
As I drove to work the pundits on the radio were still banging on about Princess Diana’s death. Today they were interviewing her brother about the eulogy he gave at her funeral, and asking if it really was a dig at the Royal Family. The poor chap was really in a difficult position; pointed questions from the radio presenters were trying to make him run down the Royals.
There was also a lot of talk about the Charlie Gard case. On the one hand are health professionals with years of experience of such cases. On the other hand are vulnerable parents egged on by foreign medics who had never seen the child until a day or so ago, and who presumably hoped to profit from the suffering of others. This case reminds me of so many other cases. The word is full of crackpots offering cures that proper medicine cannot offer. The chap who was best man at my wedding has a hereditary form of blindness. The NHS said as much, but when he was a teenager the people of the town raised hundreds of thousands of pounds to send him to a clinic in Switzerland (several times). Needless to say it achieved nothing, and the clinic has long been exposed as a scam.
I got to work and had a rather busy day. Ernie was fine, but Eric was troublesome. It’s an echoing problem…
I feel rather tired now. I seem to be getting more and more tired in the early evenings…