I didn’t have the most restful of nights. I had a nightmare
in which I had been drafted back into the scout organisation and given command
of a cub pack based near my mother’s house. All the children had various
illnesses and maladies, and the parents were all glad that they could dump
their kids on me.
I wonder what prompted that?
Fudge was particularly clingy as I scoffed my toast and
peered into Facebook. A friend had posted a picture of a card he’d received
which was enclosed in the packaging of a recent Amazon purchase. He was being
offered ten Euros credit to his Amazon account if he wrote a five-star review
of what he’d bought…
I follow an author page on Facebook (having
had minor literary success in the past). People on that page write good
reviews on the e-books of others without ever reading them, as a bad review is
the kiss of death for a writer. I recently wrote a less than glowing report on
an e-book I read. I said it was not the best and gave it three out of five. Had
I been honest I would have written the one word “shite” and given it
zero. But I still got a message from the author bleating that bad reviews are
bad for business.
This is the world of on-line reviews.
I also saw that I’ve been made admin for the Munzee “Cup
of Cocoa” clan for May. That’s quite impressive (if sticking bar codes
onto lamp posts is your thing)
I used Facebook’s new “care” emoticon on a photo of "Stormageddon
- Bringer of Destruction TM", told the world about my
second choice of film, and took the dogs out.
We took one step outside, turned round and came back in for
my coat; it was pouring hard. But the rain stopped in minutes and we had a good
walk. There was only one “episode”; a jogger coming toward us stopped
and broke out into a rather vigorous workout routine when only ten yards in
front of us. Treacle was terrified, Pogo saw it as a threat, and Fudge thought
it was a game. Fortunately a jogger coming behind us saw it all happen, and
agreed with me that the chap had picked a very silly place to start his
thrashing about.
We came home and I harvested all the dog dung from the
garden. Bearing in mind how much they “do” when we are out on our walks,
they “do” an amazing lot in the back garden.
I then spent a little while going through my credit card
statement. Being a meanie I always go through it and account for every penny,
but what with the lock-down I’ve not withdrawn any cash since a week before my
birthday. I’ve done every single transaction on card, and so there was a *lot*
to go through. Mind you it was well worth doing. Amazon never took the payment
for that rather bad e-book I whinged about earlier, and the hospital in
Hastings never took the payment for car parking when I visited my mum.
Treacle had "dumped"
just as we were coming home. I'd bagged it and left it on the doorstep to
dispose of when I left for work. So I picked up the poop, walked up the road to
the bin, and eventually found myself going in completely the opposite direction
to that in which I should have been walking. It was a shame I didn't realise
this earlier; I was in something of a daydream.
But I did get to have an experimental
deploy of one of the new Munzees that had arrived yesterday. I replaced one
that I'd put out only a couple of weeks ago which had faded to the point of
being unreadable. It worked fine, which was a result.
As I drove to Pembury the pundits on the
radio were droning on about the pandemic. If they had anything worth saying I
would have listened. But they were just repeating that which has been repeated
endlessly and making wild speculations with no evidence to back up their
suppositions, so I turned the radio off, and listened to my (arguably)
rather odd choice of music.
The roads seemed rather busy this
morning. Nowhere near as busy as usual, but certainly busier than they have
been.
I got to work, and thought I might see
what the works canteen was doing. They were doing a rather good lasagne (with
chips) and a very good spotted dick (with custard). I tucked in, and
gave myself a belly ache which lasted all afternoon.
The late shift was much as late shifts
are. I was glad to see the relief arrive, but driving home was something of a
game. With the A21 closed I again had to go cross country through Horsmonden to
Goudhurst, and then navigate the gamut of road works which was infesting much
of the A262. I do like working at Tunbridge Wells, but the journey can be iffy.
As it was this evening…
No comments:
Post a Comment