22 August 2017 (Tuesday) - This n That
I didn't sleep well; I was conscious that Fudge was downstairs and he'd been sick a couple of times yesterday evening. He was quiet when I got up just before 6am. Over brekkie I watched an episode of "Time Gentlemen Please", got ready for work then cleared up another puddle of dog sick that little Fudge had thrown up.
I suspect a stagnant puddle from which he was drinking on Sunday may have something to do with this.
I set off to work; as I drove the pundits on the radio were interviewing some of the pioneers of organic farming. These farmers were sulking that despite forty years of banging the drum of being environmentally friendly, still less than five per cent of the nation's farms operate in an "organic" way. It seems that for all that the general public claim to be keen on the "organic" ideal, they are far more keen on the savings that large-scale factory farming with pesticides generates.
I can see where the general public are coming from here. I'm not paying a fiver for one organic potato from a poncey farm shop ten miles away when I can get a sackful of spuds from Tesco for a few pence.
Perhaps if this organic nonsense wasn't so vastly overpriced we might all think differently? Does "Peckham Spring" strike a chord here?
There was then an interview with the author Neil Gaiman who was talking about the life and works of the author Brian Aldiss who died yesterday. "Supertoys Last All Summer Long", "Greybeard", "Helliconia"... as a child I used to read so much of his output. Classic sci-fi - I really must get his stuff onto my Kindle app and re-read it. I can remember "The Dark Light Years" being particularly good.
I got to work, and fretted about my dog for much of the day, even though "er indoors TM" had reported that he'd eaten his brekkie. I wondered if I might take him to the vet's this evening, even though he is really frightened of the vet.
"Daddy’s Little Angel TM" phoned at lunch time. She was going to the shoe shop in her lunch break as Pogo had eaten her trainers. She now has a hare-brained idea to buy a run-down hovel in Folkestone and do it up to great profit. She has an even more hare-brained scheme in mind that I might do the doing-up.
Once home I took the dogs round the park. As we walked I was told by a rather epically-breasted young lady that I had lovely dogs. I smiled politely; her rather flimsy blouse certainly wasn’t up to the challenge of restraining her ample charms.
Shortly after this we were harangued by a drunk. I have no idea what he was saying; he was incoherent. The woman with him apologised as he flopped out his nasty and piddled up a hedge. Treacle then picked a fight with an odd-looking dog accompanying an eastern European woman who was trying to simultaneously control the dog and four small children. All five of her charges were trying to run in different directions. And as we came through the co-op field we upset some bloke with a staffie who took one look at us, announced “oh for f… sake”, turned round and went back in the direction from which he had come.
As I have mentioned before sometimes our walks are uneventful, other times not so…