Another
good night’s sleep, and again both dogs were still fast asleep as I activated
my “Home Workout” app. I think it is
working in that I can feel things tensing up (underneath all the blubber). I set the washing machine loose on
some laundry and it chewed my trousers as I scoffed toast and watched the first
episode of the new series of “Thunderbirds
Are Go”. I liked the first two
seasons, but I’m not sure if Alan and Gordon Tracey are supposed to be a pair
of half-wits.
Whilst
I waited for the washing machine to finish I had a look at the Internet (with Fudge curled up beside me). Not
much had happened on Facebook overnight. Since all that nonsense about what
data Facebook supposedly has about everyone (but doesn’t actually seem to have), it seems to be a lot quieter on
there.
I
saw a new
cache had gone live not too far from work.
The chance of a crafty First to Find? I read the description which told me “15ft up on North east side of tree. DO NOT
ATTEMPT ALONE”. I was a bit surprised to read this – caches are all given a
terrain rating for how difficult it is to actually get to the cache. This one
was rated one point five. The sort of rating something magnetically stuck to a
railing at waist level would get. If it really is “15ft up on North east side of tree” it should have a rating of
three point five at least. It pays to read the instructions; I didn’t waste my
time chasing off after it.
I
hung out my washing and set off to work. As I drove to work there was a load of
drivel being spouted on the radio about “travelers”
(that’s the politically correct term for
gippos and pikeys apparently). One of the leading advocates of the
traveling community (but not a member of
it!) was banging on about how local councils had a moral obligation to
provide sites for travelers. It would seem that travelers like to settle down
to send their children to school and consequently like a permanent base. My gut
reaction is that they might like to get a proper house and job like everyone
else but in this day and age I am wrong to think this. I was going to say that
this goes against their inalienable human right to sponge off of the tax payer,
but it turns out that when travelers are on official council-provided sites they pay council tax.
I
suppose that’s a start…
(Am I wrong to think that all travelers are
feckless workshy villains? I expect that most of them aren’t. I suspect I would
feel different if I could figure out how on Earth they fund such an itinerant
lifestyle)
Once
at work I got to play with the department’s new blood testing devices. We have
a track of four rather impressive gizmos. Each has been named after one of the
four teenage mutant hero turtles.
This
gave me flashbacks…
I
cannot get rid of the vision of "My Boy TM" when he was four years old; charging round the house (stark naked) screaming "TAGE TURTLES!!!" and clouting
everyone and everything with a plastic sword.
Once
home I walked the dogs round the park. Both behaved themselves, and remarkably
didn’t come home absolutely filthy (as
they have done recently). Mind you we did have a “near miss” on the way home. Some bag lady was staggering along
Christchurch Road and made great show of blocking the pavement to greet the
dogs. Both utterly blanked her (as did I).
We all stepped round her and left her trying not to fall into a hedge.
"er indoors TM" boiled up a
rather good bit of dinner, then we watched yesterday’s “Benidorm”; the critics have slated this; I quite like it. And then
the most recent episode of “Young Sheldon”
– that’s not bad either…
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