As
I shaved this morning, with no warning at all my back went into a rather
impressive spasm. I didn’t actually collapse in a heap, but it came close. My
back has never been right since I put it out whilst trying (and failing)
to impress the girls in the Harbour Restaurant forty-odd years ago.
I
made toast and fought with my lap-top. Yet again the Firefox browser wouldn’t do
anything at all. Eventually I gave up with it and went with Google Chrome, but
no matter what the browser, there wasn’t a lot happening on-line.
I'd
read on the local Facebook pages yesterday about how horrendous the morning
traffic on the A2070 is, so I left home to get to “Daddy’s Little Angel TM”’s
flat with plenty of time. I found absolutely no delays at all and drove through
the A2070 without stopping once.
As
I drove the pundits on the radio were talking about how the bank of England is
having to clear up the
aftermath of Liz Truss and Kwasi Kwartang, and how what those two did looks
set to throw the country into the longest recession in history. Will it? I
don't know, but it amazes me that you need qualifications to be a plumber or
electrician or solicitor or surveyor (or blood tester!) but demonstrably
any old half-wit can just have a go and balls up the country. Isn't it time
that the offices of state required some oversight as to exactly which doombrain
is being put in charge of them?
I
got to Folkestone about forty minutes earlier than I had expected, and so went
on a little Munzee mission; opening the Qrates I found yesterday (A result,
if that floats your boat!).
And
then as “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” went off on a driving
lesson I sat with Pogo and “Darcie Waa Waa TM”. Darcie wasn't
really settled today. She slept for about half an hour whilst I played "Goat
Simulator", but then woke and was very restless. About ten minutes before “Daddy’s Little
Angel TM” came home, “Darcie Waa Waa TM” did a series of rather epic farts, which
probably explained a lot.
I
then set off for work. As I drove the
pundits on the radio were interviewing people who had had atom bombs dropped on
them whilst they did National Service. Understandably the survivors want
compensation. Perhaps not quite so understandably, they also want an apology.
Bearing in mind whoever had the idea to drop atom bombs on National Service
lads is long dead, who would make that apology?
I
had a rather good drive from Folkestone to Tunbridge Wells. Although it took a
while, the way was rather pretty. I got to work and did that which I couldn't
avoid.
Being
on a late, I didn’t leave work until after nine o’clock. The overnight road
works at Bethersden had expanded somewhat since Monday’s late shift; so much so
that I was diverted through Tenterden. As I came through Woodchurch I stopped
the car to look at the deer on the side of the road. The deer were quite
fearless; only moving when I tried to train my camera on them.
I
came home via the co-op just up the road; “er indoors TM”
said we needed milk. There was no other shop open between Tunbridge Wells and home.
I
got home fourteen hours after I left home this morning…
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