I
actually slept through till three o'clock this morning, and judging by what I
read on Facebook (as I scoffed brekkie) I would seem to have missed the
thunderstorm. Facebook this morning was either talk of the thunderstorm or talk
of the new Prime Minister. I did chuckle as I read what certain friends had
posted. I have several friends who support various political parties in the
same way that they support their chosen football team. For some of them it was
as though the Conservatives had elected the baby Jesus, and for others it was
as though Genghis Khan had returned.
It
never fails to amaze me how so many otherwise intelligent people try to claim
that black is white purely because their chosen favourite political party
claims that is the case.
Once
I'd refereed the dogs' squabbles (Treacle had a time out!) and scoffed
toast I set off to work. I set off via fourteen dull points of interest, and as
I drove the pundits on the radio were talking about the new Prime Minister as
well. She's supposedly going to sort out
the cost of living crisis starting with the ridiculously high leccie and gas
bills. Details of how she was going to do so were rather vague; there was a
strange idea being proposed in which the bills will be spread out years into
the future. Presumably Lacey, “Stormageddon – Bringer of Destruction TM” and “Darcie Waa Waa TM” will be paying for my leccie bills long after
they have buried me.
There
was then an interview with the deputy leader of the Labour party Angela Rayner.
Call me a snob if you will, but when she speaks she sounds terrible. You'd
think that someone who has chosen to be a public figure would have sorted her
voice out, wouldn't you? I popped into Sainsburys on my way to work, and the cleaners shrieking abuse at each other
were better spoken than Ms Rayner.
On
the way back to my car I capped a qrewzee and got a diamond qrate. That was a
result. Or, it was a result for those who scan bar codes stuck to lamp posts.
As I was driving past the filling station, I got petrol, and went in to work.
Work
was much the same as ever. There was cake, or to be precise, baklava. Have you
ever had baklava? It's a bit like an undercooked sponge which has been covered
in glue. But call it what you will, cake is cake.
I
spent much of the day planning the drive to Eastbourne. There was apparently a
road closure at Cross in Hand and a ninety-eight per cent chance of
thunderstorm when I was due to be arriving at my destination. And then the hospital phoned me… so I left
work earlier than planned and set off to Eastbourne.
This
was my fifth trip to Eastbourne in less than two weeks, and it seems to me that
no matter what way I go, it isn't a good drive, but I think I might have found
the best way to go.
I
got to the hospital and had a little chat with the doctor looking after Dad. He’s
not responding to treatments, and the treatments are very uncomfortable for him.
We’ve decided the priority is to make him as comfortable as possible as there’s
not much else we can do.
I
then spent a little while with him as he slept… I told him about the limescale and the scratches on my car and the pond fun…
I don’t think he heard a word.
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