Being awake far too early I watched the last episode of “The
Gentlemen” on Netflix. Unlike many of the series made today, this one was
unusual in that everyone kept their kit on, and no jubblies at all were flopped
out.
I had a quick Munzee session from the comfort of the sofa
then tried to get dressed. Getting dressed in the morning is something of a
mission. I have to do it in the darkness for fear of waking anyone, and having
got everything organized this morning I sat on a sleeping Bailey. I don’t think
she realized.
I then tried to get another Greenie outside the house (as
one does) but failed. On the plus side I capped nineteen Points of Interest
on the way to work and our Clan has got to Level One. There’s never a dull
moment when playing Munzee. Who would have thought that sticking bar codes to
lamp posts could be so entertaining?
I went to work via the petrol station where the same bar of
choccie that I bought yesterday in the works branch of WH Smiths was fifty-five
pence cheaper. It pays to shop around.
As I drove up the motorway I listened to the radio as I do.
Politicians were calling for a shake-up to sort out the NHS. Perhaps I have a
vested interest here, but if forty-two and a half years of working for the NHS
has taught me anything, it has taught me that a shake-up is the last thing the
NHS needs. In my years in harness I’ve lost count of how many shake-ups the NHS
has had. Just as the benefits of the most recent one take effect so everything
is thrown back up in the air again as we have yet another shake-up. All are
instigated on the whim of whatever is the favoured current political theory,
and no one ever does any research to see whether or not any of them actually
did any good. What the NHS needs is to be left alone to get on with its job.
And there was a lot of talk about a nuclear power station which was attacked in Ukraine.
Both the Russians and the Ukrainians were blaming each other. The Ukrainian
minster of something-or-other was being interviewed on the radio; like all
Ukrainians being interviewed on the radio he seemed totally ungrateful for the
military help the Western world has given Ukraine, and did pretty much nothing
but demand (not ask for, bur demand) more.
I got to work where I saw a mitotic figure. In forty-two
and a half years of looking down microscopes this is only the fourth I’ve seen
outside of a textbook or quality control tests. I saw a harlequin cell as well
– they too are slightly less common that rocking horse poo.
Talking of poo I came home to a letter. A few days ago I
sent a turd through the post to the bowel cancer screening people. I’ve been
told that no further testing is needed at this time, but they’d like me to post
them another turd in two years’ time.
If that’s what they want, they shall have it.
“er indoors TM” boiled up a very good
bit of dinner which we scoffed whilst watching the final of “Lego Masters:
New Zealand”. Both were rather good.
As we watched we had a message from “Daddy’s
Little Angel TM”. I am reliably
informed that Pogo is a twatbag; he’s eaten an entire tub of margarine (again).
Poor Pogo.
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