24 June 2020 (Wednesday) - After the Night Shift


I was rather glad when the relief showed up this morning; the night shift was rather hard work.
As I drove home the pundits on the radio were interviewing the Business Secretary; I say “interviewing” – “slapping his arse and calling him Susan” might be a more accurate description. Having been asked all sorts of questions on the easing of lock-down, the chap was clearly reading out statements that someone else had prepared for him, and he wasn’t convincing anyone. And he just went to pieces when asked about what the housing minister has been up to. Mind you the housing minister has been a bit cheeky – he went out on the beer (champagne) with a load of his rich mates, and then overturned an official decision to allow his mate to make a small (large) fortune.
I should have gone into politics. There is far more opportunity to misuse public office as a minister than as a blood tester. There’s very little scope for embezzling in a blood bank.

Once home I was greeted by Treacle and Pogo who were pleased to see me. Fudge was in the garden; when he saw me he ran into the house to where we keep the leads, and he then started shouting. I took the hint and took the dogs out.
I drove them down to Orlestone Woods. I spent a few minutes getting the dogs to pose for a photo (it takes some doing), and just as I had them all in the perfect pose some coiffured effeminate minced right through the middle of where the dogs were posed, loudly fussing about our being in his way. Matters weren’t helped by his holding a small fluffy dog at arm’s length in front of him and waving it around. Obviously my hounds thought this was some sort of game and started jumping up. Up to this point I could have shrugged it all off as just another dog-owner who knows nothing about dogs, but I’m never at my best after a night shift. When he shrieked “Get down you brute!” I saw red. Pogo is many things; a “lump”, a “stoopid dog”, a “Pogey Bear”… but a “brute”? This chap then started clucking that his dog had been attacked by an Alsatian and seemed to be implying that Pogo was to blame. I replied that I wasn’t surprised his dog had been attacked since he clearly didn’t know that waving a small fluffy dog about as though it was a toy would make other dogs think it *was* a toy. He then shouted that his dog had been attacked by an Alsatian (in case I didn’t hear it the first time). I’d had enough by then and suggested that judging by his behaviour, the attack was entirely of his causing and that maybe he should have learned a thing or two about dogs before he got one of his own causing. This didn’t go as well as it might have done, and he then flounced off into the distance demanding that he had to be in front.
I did chuckle when I got back to the car; another dog walker described the chap with whom I’d had the run-in. He’d had a set-to with him as well.

I came home and went to bed. I managed to stay in it for four hours. Treacle came and slept with me… perhaps “guarded me” might be a better description as she flew off in a barking fit with annoying regularity.
Once awake I made some toast and went through the monthly accounts. I like to account for every penny because it is amazing what I never get billed for. Having paid for parking at the hospital in Hastings and buying a Smargard and several Amazon purchases over the last few months, I’ve spent over forty quid that has never come up on any statement.
Again I’m not poor; just nowhere near as rich as I would like to be,

I then got the ironing board out and ironed for an hour or so whilst watching “Guest House Paradiso” on Netflix, then with ironing ironed I played “Cookie Jam” on Facebook games. There was talk of going to the beach for a walk with "My Boy TM" and his tribe, but it was too hot to go out. I had thought about sitting in the garden but it was too hot to even do that.

"er indoors TM" sorted dinner which we scoffed whilst watching yesterday’s episode of “Bake Off: The Professionals”. She’s now taken the dogs out; I would have an early night if it wasn’t so hot…

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