With an alliance of Pogo, Treacle and "er indoors TM"
having claimed most of the duvet and having turned on the bedroom fan I gave up
laying in bed shivering and came downstairs for brekkie. A row was kicking off
on the national Facebook geocaching page in which “Karen from Facebook”
was ranting that some people had gone geocaching recently and hadn’t sterilised
pretty much everything in their wake as they went. I didn’t get involved; but
it amazes me that the less anyone knows about matters microbiological, the more
vocal they are on the subject. It also amazes me that there is now (supposedly)
such an expected high quality of hygiene expected in a hobby which is all about
scrubbling under rocks for film pots that have been left in the dirt for months
and years.
I had a look at my emails and saw another series of
geocaches had gone live. Thirty-odd new ones had appeared yesterday evening in
Coxheath, and fifteen more appeared this morning near Marden. And there could
well be more coming, for which I am grateful. A prolific hider of the things
has announced that he’s finding the walking all a bit too much these days and (bearing
in mind his caches are all rather old) he’s asking for people to put out
new ones in his area at which point he will archive his old ones. I’ve offered
to take on a short-ish series in the back of beyond if no one else will, and I
spent a little while perusing the map of that area. The route is already in
place, but finding somewhere to park a car on that route takes some doing…
And I had an email from Amazon. Based on my recent activity
(of buying the latest album from “Sparks”)
they thought I might be interested in buying the latest album from “Sparks”.
I went into the garden and got the paint brush out. I
finished painting the shed, got a coat of paint onto the wooden barrel which
houses one of the water features, and spent an hour or so painting trellises.
As I painted so “not-so-nice-next-door” was busying about on her side of
the fence. The stupid woman had spent half an hour reinforcing a post which her
strange ex-husband had put in years ago to reinforce the fence. Ironically the
post she reinforced is fine as it is, but it in no way contributes anything to
the integrity of the fence. The fence is still flapping about just as it was
before she started fannying about. When Fudge started barking at her I told him
to be quiet as he will see plenty of her when the fence falls down later.
Hopefully she took notice of that.
I painted until it got a bit too hot for that, so I came
in, had a quick shower, and looked at the monthly accounts. As always they
could be better, but as always they really could be a whole lot worse. If I’m
looking to replace the entire fence supports (for more than I’ve spent on a
car before) I can’t be *that* hard up, can I? It’s just that I’d
like a lot more money than I actually have.
Using
twenty-first century technology we spent the bank holiday afternoon enjoying
the sunshine with the first fruit of my loin and his tribe. A couple of bottles
of Polish lager, a pint (or so) of salted caramel flavoured Baileys, several
vodka-infused strawberries and I am reliably informed that "My Boy TM"
had “blown”…
Me
- I’m feeling raring to go… Which is more than I was this time twenty-four
years ago when I can remember getting particularly unwell on a combination of
white wine and Harvey’s Best Bitter
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