13 March 2018 (Tuesday) - Before the Night Shift

I stood on the scales today and weighed in at one hundred and seven point nine kilogrammes. In imperial terms that’s a loss of five and a half pounds in a week. I know from experience that a *lot* of weight comes off in the first week of any diet, but if I could manage to shed only a pound a week for the rest of the year I might just only be “overweight” by Christmas.
As I made my brekkie (toast and jam – three hundred calories) I wondered if maybe muesli might be a better brekkie for me. I might get some and find out.
Interestingly the people who provide my calorie counter emailed my today with some weight loss tips. Nor much as I admire them for the calorie counter and the database of the nutritional content of over two million different foods, I was rather dubious about advice being offered by someone by the name of Jackie S Womble.
There wasn’t much happening on Facebook this morning, but I saw that CAMRA had announced its “Dover pub of the year”. I wondered about asking how the decision had been made; for several years I was a member of CAMRA’s  Ashford branch and never heard anything from them whatsoever from one year to the next. I used to get wound up when the local branch would declare its local pub of the year and claim that the membership had decided it when neither I nor any fellow members of my acquaintance had never been asked.

I set the washing machine going and set McAfee scanning my lap-top, then got the dogs organized and took them round the park. There was a minor disaster when we found our way blocked by some tree surgeons. I say “blocked”; we could walk round easily enough but it involved walking round by going through a swamp. Once past the swamp we met Oscar; a little pug who Treacle actually played with for a while. Fudge behaved himself mostly; there was a near incident when he tried to join in with OrangeHead’s posse, but one of their number stopped and caught him for me. She knows what a pain he can be.

We came home; both dogs had the mud washed from their undersides. I hung out the washing and put more in to scrub. "er indoors TM" had sorted some rubbish for the tip so I loaded that into the car together with four black sacks that (for no reason that I could fathom) the bin men didn’t take. I collected Cheryl and her mate (who were on the way home from town), got Cheryl’s old mattress, and took a car full of rubbish to the tip.
The tip was rather busy for a Tuesday morning. Things might have been easier for me had I not been followed by one of the staff who was constantly telling me that towels went in the household waste. I assured him that I had no towels, but he wouldn’t let it lie. I showed him the rubbish I had; old clothes, a broken vacuum cleaner, a cracked bowling ball… still he wouldn’t shut up about towels.
With rubbish unloaded it was only a short hop from the tip to the shingle shop where I bought four bags of red granite. It is surprising how heavy those bags of shingle are. I got them into the car easily enough but had to seriously strain getting them from the car into the back garden.

I hung out more washing, then put undercrackers in to scrub as I watched another episode of “Jamestown”. It was odd. The show started off being a period drama and it carried on like this for the first season and most of the second season. And Jocelyn’s heaving bosom was a little (not so little) bonus. Now it has suddenly become a zombie-horror show, and Jocelyn has put her bosom away.
What’s that all about?

I took myself off to bed for the afternoon. I slept reasonably well. I would have slept better had the dogs not been barking at random shadows for much of the time. I woke just after five o’clock and spent an hour devising a geo-puzzle which I might hide for the gratification of humanity (or that fraction of humanity which likes hunting Tupperware) later in the week.

Once "er indoors TM" has cooked my dinner I’m off to the night shift…

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