15 June 2018 (Friday) - Method Feeder
Treacle woke me with her whimpering just before half past two this morning. I settled her, and Fudge started grumbling. When they eventually settled, new-next-door’s dogs started. The night continued in this way until I finally gave up and came downstairs for an early brekkie. As I watched “Trailer Park Boys” Treacle came downstairs, barked at pretty much everything then went back to bed.
I wish they’d all shut up.
As I looked at Facebook this morning I sighed. So much racial hatred was being posted. So many memes about how immigrant families are living high at the British taxpayer’s expense; all being copied and pasted and immediately believed. Not one with any real verifiable information. Who are these people who allegedly get over a hundred thousand pounds in hand-outs? Which council funds this? What are their names? Where do they live? Do they *really* exist? I’ve cleared several people from my Facebook list; I don’t want people spreading hatred like that in my life.
I checked my emails as I do. There were job vacancies being advertised in Eastbourne and Orpington. Neither was really practical for me. Mind you at the moment Tunbridge Wells isn’t practical until I get my car sorted.
Talking of which I then went out to my car. Despite a whiff of petrol, it didn’t seem to have leaked much overnight, and after a few seconds’ effort the engine started. I drove off down the road and ten minutes later it was with a tremendous sense of relief that I pulled up at the garage. The earliest appointment they had isn’t until next Thursday, but I couldn’t leave it on the road until then. I’ve left the car at the garage; the nice man said that if they get chance they will sort it out earlier.
I walked down to where I’d agreed for "er indoors TM" to pick me up. We’d agreed to meet at McDonalds, and after a swift McBrekkie we came home.
I then went to the dentist; I had an appointment with the hygienist. She rummaged around in my mouth giving it all a good clean-up. When I came to rinse there was perhaps a tad more blood than I might have liked, but she seemed happy with the state of my biscuit-muncher.
Before I left they asked me to fill out a questionnaire about my experience at the dentist today. I ticked the “I loved it” option for pretty much every question, but one question puzzled me. They wanted to know if there was anything more they could do to accommodate for my sexual orientation. What a stupid question. Can you imagine their response if I’d answered honestly and said “bigger tits and saucier undercrackers”.
I came home to find "My Boy TM" had loaded my fishing gear into his car, and leaving "er indoors TM" doing the decorating (it was her idea!) we went fishing.
Sam’s Lakes near Headcorn is a rather beautiful place to be. On our last trip to the tackle shop the first fruit of my loin had suggested I get a “method feeder”. Sparing my loyal readers the technicalities, a “method feeder” is a brilliant way for me to avoid wasting loads of money because I’m a crap shot with a catapult. I had a go with the “method feeder” and it worked well. Perhaps not the roaring success it might have been, but well enough. Catching tench, roach, bream, common carp, mirror carp and crucian carp the thing earned its place in my tackle box today. Even if "My Boy TM" did catch fish more than three times the weight of my biggest with his dog biscuits.
As we fished we watched the antics of a little rat. It was scurrying about as and swimming all around. I logged it with my “mammals” app.
We also watched the antics of the chap fishing next to us. Fortunately he only stayed for a couple of hours. He was rather amazing; it was patently obvious he didn’t have a clue about what he was doing. For example, it is standard piscatorial practice to set up within striking distance of the water. Not some eight to ten yards away from the stuff. And the float he was using… I was sad to see him go; had anyone fallen in, his float was big enough to have used as a life boat. I’ve seen smaller balloons.
whilst we fished. We could have stayed longer, but time was pushing on so we came home.
With "er indoors TM" still decorating like a thing possessed I took the hounds round the park for a walk. There was a near miss incident with a particularly thick child. This brat saw Fudge, screamed “Sausage Dog” and sprinted straight at him. I quickly stepped in the way so the idiot bounced off of me, and didn’t flatten my dog. Its equally vacant mother stared into space as all this took place. After a few seconds she realised I was glaring at her and she mumbled an apology.
Once home I got to shower off all (most) of the fish slime, and "er indoors TM" boiled up some fish and chips. We scoffed it whilst watching an episode of “Young Sheldon”; we’ve got rather behind with that show…
I think I might have caught the sun today…