I woke at the sound of a dog jumping off the bed in
the small hours. I assumed it was Morgan. He needs chasing in the night. He
jumps off the bed and goes to the back garden to do that which dogs do *if*
I open the door in time. But when he finds the back door is locked he then does
the best he can in less than ideal circumstances and craps on the doormat. But
it wasn't Morgan last night. Treacle had fallen off the bed and in my hurry to
chase downstairs I tripped over her. She just wanted help to get back onto the
bed. She's getting old. She can't get on the bed any more. She struggles to get
into the car before our walks, and she needs lifting into the car after a walk.
I didn't get back to sleep after that. I got up
earlier than I might have done, and as I scoffed toast I watched an
episode of "Black Mirror" on Netflix. What would you do if the
latest big TV show was seemingly based on every detail of your life - including
that which you'd rather no one else knew about?
Taking care not to wake anyone I got ready for work
and set off. As I drove up the motorway the pundits were talking about the assisted dying bill
which is going through Parliament.
At the risk of simplifying a rather complex issue,
you'd be prosecuted for allowing a dog to suffer, but you'd also be
prosecuted for preventing a person suffering in the same way. Am I missing
something here?
I drove to the Sainsbury's petrol station in Aylesford
as their petrol is consistently cheaper than in Ashford. But I forgot that they
don't get stocked up until mid-morning. So for all that I saved about a quid on
the petrol I then had to make a separate journey into the supermarket to get
lunch. I got myself a beef and horseradish sandwich and a little pot of
guacamole and some nachos. The little pot and nachos were good for one hundred
and sixty-eight calories. In the past I'd get a big bag of Doritos and a pot of
the Pringles guac dip and scoff the lot for lunch; totally oblivious to the
three thousand four hundred calories that was going down my neck.
I went in to work and had a cuppa, and had my
morning's root around the Internet rather later than usual. Irene was posting
piccies from Uzbekistan. She's got to Khiva. I liked Khiva; I bought a
rather sexy jacket there that I have still to wear.
And there was quite the argument in the Facebook group
about big cat sightings in the UK. Someone had found what they claimed was a
big cat's skull. Others were claiming it was a dead badger. All were
adamant that they were right.
Our Munzee clan has reached the second of our monthly
goals.
I had loads of emails that needed to be deleted
unread.
I cracked on with the early shift, and at lunchtime I
scoffed my nachos and guac dip. In future I shall get the carrots and houmous
dip - half the calories and it tastes better.
We had a sweepstake at work for tomorrow's Eurovision
Song Contest. I got Luxembourg; I was told that was good. I had no idea, so I did some research.
Apparently Luxembourg has a one in two hundred and fifty chance of winning.
Even worse than the UK’s chance.
An early start made for an early finish. The journey
home took fifty minutes. Seventeen miles down the motorway took twenty minutes;
two miles from work to motorway, and two miles from motorway to home took a
total of half an hour.
Once home I ran round gathering dog turds, then ran
round with the watering can, and once “er indoors TM” had
finished work we took the dogs to Orlestone for a short (two miles)
walk.
As we drove down we saw two red kites. We saw two
smaller hawks in the woods, and a buzzard sitting on the telegraph wires as we
came home. Back in the day we rarely, if ever, saw a bird of prey. Now they are
more and more common. Which got me thinking… If there’s more birds of prey,
there’s got to be more food for them. Bearing in mind they scoff small animals
there’s got to be more food and habitat for small birds and mice and the like.
But the news keeps telling us about habitat destruction?
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