I slept until backache woke me this morning,
which is usually a sign of having had a good kip. I managed to make myself
comfortable again, but Bailey stirred, and started licking my hand in her
sleep.
I got up, put a load
into the washing machine, had a shave and cut a lump out of the side of my
nose.
In between dripping
blood on my toast I had a look at the Internet. It was still there. Yesterday’s
squabble over the dog club seemed to have fizzled out. I hope it has; I’m not
the most tactful of people and from what I can work out the squabble wasn’t
caused by my group. And when I say “my group” I’m still not entirely
sure how it has become “my group”. Having offered to open up for one
week when the organiser was on holiday I’m now key holder, collector of money,
admin of the Facebook page, and am meeting the land owner (supposedly as
representative of the club) in a couple of days’ time.
I then reported yet more
porn-mongers to the Facebook Feds. “Volleyball girls UK” claimed to be
an insurance company, but it is actually peddling filth. “Business Money”
claimed to be a business supplies service, but was certainly dealing in an
entirely different sort of business. “Paradox Home” and “AWJR”
claimed to be advertising agencies; one click took you to full-on lady bits.
And this morning’s
petty argument blown out of all proportion held by people who will never
actually meet was about whether or not there should be a remake of “Logan’s
Run”. Ironically those against the re-make were all very happy about the
series that followed the movie which was essentially a re-make.
I sorted undercrackers,
hung out washing, and spent half an hour in the garden. The lawn was far too
wet to be mowed, but I mowed it anyway. It had got too long to be able to find
dog turds with any certainty, and it was so long that it wouldn’t dry anyway.
As I gave the lawn its initial scalping I thought back to the days when the
nutty bloke lived next door. He would get very angry and aggressive whenever I
mowed my lawn. According to the strange voices in his head I was always mowing
my lawn at the wrong time. It was too cold, too hot, too wet, too dry. He could
never tell me when I should mow the lawn; only that when I was mowing the lawn
was the wrong time.
I wonder whatever
happened to him.
With lawn scalped I
then pruned some of the dead stuff out of the pond’s bog filter, then we got
ready for the day.
Knowing the dogs would
need to run off some energy we drove to Benenden where there was a little
geocaching Adventure Lab series. We spent half an hour wandering about finding
things we would never otherwise have found.
From Benenden it was a
short hop to The Peacock at Goudhurst where we met my brother, sister in law
and oldest nephew and had a very good Sunday roast. Starting off with
whitebait, then full roast beef dinner, and ending up with Crème Brulé, we (I)
washed it all down with five pints of Masterbrew and a couple of glasses of
amaretto.
Not a bad way to spend
the afternoon.
Once home the dogs
slept like tired things. Yesterday they were out like lights after our full-on
day. Today was much the same. For them a busy morning is a couple of hours up
the woods; they probably really do sleep for twenty hours every day. Six hours
full-on wears them out.
With dogs sleeping we settled
in front of the telly whilst the washing machine did its thing again.
I’ve had a rather good week off work – back to
the grind tomorrow – part time…
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