30 January 2020 (Thursday) - A Day Off
Having had four early starts this week it was good to have a bit of a lie-in this morning. I slept until eight o’clock when I was mobbed by the dogs who thought that since they were up, so I should also be up.
I made myself some toast and scoffed it as I had my usual morning’s rummage round the Internet. There wasn’t much going on at all really, but I did smile on one post I read about geocaching. Without going into tedious detail, someone in Belgium was impressed with something that happens in the UK and was asking “why don’t we…” Usually it is “why don’t you…” A subtle difference, but one that achieves results.
Another friend had posted a photo; she’d been doing the “10 day scouting leader challenge”; the idea being that every day for ten days you have to post a photo of why being a scout leader has been such a good thing for you. I was a scout leader for thirteen years; I started because "My Boy TM" was a nine-year old cub at the time, and they needed help. I must have enjoyed some of it; I’ve been told (many times) by the now grown up cubs that they had a whale of a time under my care. But looking back most of what I can remember is it being an endless chore in which I herded ungrateful brats who would rather just fight with each other or blankly stare into space rather than do any of the myriad activities that we’d spent hours planning for them. I admire those people who can see past the bad behaviour of the little horrors and make fun for the children.
I also had an email from Amazon which rather confused me. Amazon wrote “Based on your recent activity, we thought you might be interested in this” and tried to sell me murder-mystery hardback books. I wonder why they thought I would be interested in murder-mystery hardback books when my recent activity on Amazon was buying sci-fi e-books, looking at vintage Lego and watching Star Trek.
As I peered into the Internet so Pogo came and sat with me. He was making a pest of himself until I realised he just wanted a cuddle. All the books say that dogs don’t like being hugged; mine seem to enjoy it.
I put the leads on to the dogs and we went out to the car and drove to Challock. For those of my loyal readers who don’t know the area, Challock is substantially higher than Ashford, and some days you really do drive up into the clouds. Today was one such day; light drizzle in Ashford; mist and fog not five miles away. We went on to Kings Wood where usually you get the less-doombrained dog walkers, but we found a right one today. We hadn’t got away from the car park and the dogs were still on their leads when an idiotic woman loomed out of the mist. Pogo started barking at her dog so I walked to one side. Idiot woman turned to carry on walking at us. I turned ninety degrees and walked (and dragged Pogo) twenty-five yards away. With an idiot grin, this woman followed us and remarked that Pogo was rather noisy. When I (rather curtly) explained that I was trying to get out of her way but she wouldn’t stop following me she was rather taken aback, and walked off to a car that was nowhere near where she had been walking.
What was that all about?
We got into the woods, and (after I deployed a Munzee) I let the dogs run. Usually Fudge straggles terribly in Kings Wood, but he kept up relatively well today. There was a minor incident with the forestry people; one chap driving a tractor (with no lights) flew round a blind corner far too fast, saw us and swerved off the track. He gave us a wave and an embarrassed smile. I was tempted to give him the V-sign but smiled in a sickly fashion instead.
I took a few photos whilst we were out. Once home the dogs had a bath, and I spent half an hour trying to find what I’d done with their leads. Eventually I realised that I must have thrown them in the washing machine with the grungy towels with which I dried the dogs off after their bath. Imagine my surprise half an hour later when I realised their leads weren’t in the washing machine at all.
The leads eventually turned up where I’d left them…
I had a little look at the household accounts. I’ve still not been charged for two e-books I bought in September, which is something of a result. I watched a little telly, and with the dogs snoring I quietly slipped out and drove up to the local hospital.
I got to the hospital and parked up. As I walked through the doors I felt odd. I worked in that place for nearly thirty years. My children were both born there… the place has been such a major part of my life, but no one but me knew any of that.
I made my way to where I was supposed to be and sat with the Great Unwashed. As I sat and waited there was a young mother amusing her small child. The mother was doing a good job; the child was quiet and well behaved. It was a shame that there was some mad old biddy giving a running commentary on the child’s every movement.
Today was my follow-up appointment with the ENT surgeon following last October’s nasal rebore. I was called in ten minutes early; the surgeon was friendly and positive. He got out an endoscope and had a look up inside my nose, then showed me some rather gruesome pictures of exactly what he had pulled out of my beak last October. He’d sent the lumps off to the lab, and it turns out that what he’s extracted was a schneiderian papilloma. He took great pains to assure me that it wasn’t malignant, but it could well recur in a few years’ time (like it has done once already) and so he wants me to come to see him in the ENT clinic next year. Bearing in mind how long it takes to get an ENT referral, I’m very happy with that. He also said that if the thing does recur, then next time we (he) might like to consider more radical surgery which would involve drilling through bone. I wasn’t too keen at the sound of that, but after all is said and done, he is the expert.
I came home expecting to have the dogs demand a second walk; they greeted me, then all three went back to their beds and back to sleep. The morning’s walk had worn them out. I ironed some shirts andfell asleep in front of the telly until "er indoors TM" came home. She boiled up a rather good bit of scran which we scoffed whilst watching “The Dog Whisperer”. Bossing dogs about looks so easy on the telly…