It was rather good to have a proper shave with shaving cream this morning. I'd run out yesterday and had done the best I could with soap.
With a scraped face I woke the puppies and took them outside. Both did that which was expected of them in the garden, and then both came in and did an encore in the living room. Fortunately it was on the puppy pads that are down for such an emergency, but I'd rather they didn't. And then having Bailey sick up a turd she'd obviously eaten at some point yesterday was just the icing on the cake.
Sadly I had run out of Slimfast shakes so I had to make toast. One major advantage of a Slimfast shake is the zero preparation time, leaving me able to supervise the puppies. They ran riot as I made toast, but soon settled and were fast asleep as I watched another episode of "Orange is the New Black". As I watched so “er indoors TM” came down to do what the puppies had so spectacularly done earlier (not on the puppy pads however), but in a novel break with tradition she didn't have an entourage of Treacle and Pogo with her. Both presumably couldn't be bothered to get up.
I set off to work; for once not having anyone driving up my arse for miles. I did watch a dustbin lorry drive straight through a red traffic light though. Fortunately there was no one coming through, but that could have been nasty.
As I drove up the motorway the pundits on the radio were talking about a recent Cabinet meeting in which that idiot Boris Johnson was looking at ways in which the government can help the average household to make savings allegedly by relaxing relax rules on childcare (thereby making it cheaper) and by having less regular MOT inspections on cars and lorries. (And I feel guilty that I refer to him as "that idiot" and not "Prime Minister"!)
Mind you the opposition is little better with Angela Rayner (the deputy leader of the Labour party) being described as "Zippy" to Sir Kier Starmer's "Bungle"Meanwhile the world is pretending to be surprised as the Russians turn off the gas supplies to Poland and Bulgaria. Like we didn't see this one coming. One of the things which seriously boils my piss is when people (be it anyone from little “Stormageddon – Bringer of Destruction TM” up to God himself) seem to be surprised by the utterly predictable.
I stopped off for petrol, then went on to work. During a tea break I read something on Facebook which could only be a good thing. I follow the local scout association's Facebook page. Whoever it is that runs that page was grumbling about how much scout leaders have to pay for membership of the scout association.
The funding of the Scout Association has always annoyed me.
When I was a cub scout leader (for thirteen years) we had over thirty children along every week. For most of them what we did was just the "Tuesday activity". Most kids did some activity every night of the week. Football, rugby, dancing, archery, pro-celebrity arm-wrestling... Most of these other activities lasted for an hour and cost between five and ten pounds. We at the cubs had the kids for two hours, charged one pound fifty, and were paranoid that we were over-charging. Consequently a large part of being a scout leader was giving up a lot of time and effort to fund-raise to subsidise people with higher incomes than ours who lived in bigger houses than ours and who drove more expensive cars than ours. Scout leaders used to *love* working hard to fund that which others could pay for with the loose change in their pocket.
I had a surprisingly busy day at work today. As I did my bit my phone rang. “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” had taken Darcie WaaWaa to see the midwife this morning, and the littlun had pooped all over the midwife’s desk. This is the sort of thing which is hilarious all the time it is someone else’s desk, and as it wasn’t my desk I laughed like a drain.
I also laughed at “Daddy’s Little Angel TM”’s washing machine. She’d mistakenly set it to wash at ninety degrees, and the thing had filled the kitchen with clouds of steam before packing up and being utterly unresponsive to any button she pressed on it. For no adequately explored reason she thought I might know how to fix it. I suggested she pulled the plug, checked the fuse, and told it she still loved it. Failing that I said she might send for a fix-it man. The only other thing I know how to do is to empty the gunge filter, and I think that her poor device was long past that.
Needing a new shirt (or two) I came home via Matalan. I always forget that I have vowed so many times not to go in there again. I can get better shirts far cheaper from Amazon. There is a far better selection on-line, no swarms of feral children running round, and no staff making no secret of the fact they don’t want to be there.
Once home I thought about taking the dogs out. But thought better of the idea. When the puppies are bigger we will definitely go to the woods. But not today. Instead we played in the garden. I opened the back door and in the time it took me to pick up the poop scoop, Bailey had found a mouthful of turd. I physically emptied her mouth (yuk!), then had a look round for more poops. They we played “fetch”. Or Pogo and I played “fetch”. The puppies swarmed around trying to join in but not really understanding what was going on, and Treacle played her own game in which she tried to get as many tennis balls into her mouth to stop anyone else having any toys.
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