I
woke feeling full of beans at 3am; I then dozed fitfully for a couple of hours.
I gave up trying to sleep at 5.30am and over brekkie watched an episode of “Dad’s Army”. In today’s instalment our
heroes were throwing buckets of water around on a roof. I turned it off, and
sparked up my laptop instead.
I
got just the teensiest bit peeved when looking at Facebook this morning. Back
in the day when you had had enough of whatever but of tat you didn’t want any
more you would throw it away. Or if it wasn’t entirely fit for the dustbin you
would give it to the scouts who would flog it in a jumble sale. Nowadays you
don’t throw anything away and you certainly don’t give it away. Instead you offer
it up for sale on social media and pocket any profit for yourself. Unwanted
shoes, knackered beds, worn out kids toys… is there nothing that people won’t
try to sell? I suppose enough of this rubbish must sell for people to carry on
trying to flog it.
It
was still dark when I left home this morning; dark and rather cold. As I drove
to work the pundits on the radio were spouting their usual drivel. There was consternation being expressed by
the Catalonian spokesman for foreign affairs who was discussing their
sad state of affairs. I don't pretend to be an expert on the details of
what is happening, but it seems that one part of Spain wants independence from
the rest. And having actively sought it, the pundits on the radio were saying
that this has prompted parts of Italy to also hanker for self-rule.
And
so the European dream dies on its arse?
I
can't help but despair. Surely the time for small-minded tribalism is past.
Surely we should be working together rather than going our separate ways? There
will be war in Europe again...
There
was also consternation being expressed by the bleeding hearts about the
announcement that people are going to have to prove they have been resident in
the UK for six months before getting non-emergency
treatment on the NHS.
Is
this so unreasonable? Visitors to the UK will still get emergency treatment if
ill, but people from foreign countries shouldn't be able to come to the UK for
free midwifery and free joint replacement surgery.
The
roads were nowhere near as busy as they have been, and I got to Maidstone in a
fraction of the time it took last week. So, on finding Aldi hadn't yet opened, I went to Sainsbury's for
supplies.
Oh dear...
Their
jam. marmalade and peanut butter were twice the price of Aldi. I don't know
what I'm more upset about; having to pay double the price for my condiments, or
that I know the prices of jam and marmalade in different supermarkets. My grandmother used to know the price of pretty
much every item in every shop in Hastings. I hope I'm not going that way.
Mind
you they did have dark chocolate Tunnock's caramel wafers. Not too shabby at
all...
Some
days in my life are good, others rather dull. If it wasn’t for the choccy
biccie, today would have been incredibly dull…
No comments:
Post a Comment