Again with this clocks going back nonsense I was once more
wide awake far too early. If I lay in bed wide awake for any length of time my
arms go numb and my legs hurt, which rather sucks.
I eventually got up and had a look at a rather dull
Internet. Three friends on Facebook were having a birthday today. One I see
quite regularly, one with whom I work, and one I’ve not seen in probably
fifteen years. There were a few photos of the Koi that people were trying to
sell on some of the pond-related Facebook groups. As I said on Saturday,
pure-bred Koi don’t seem to be the prettiest of fish. Back when we dug the pond
I only wanted Koi in it, but in the meantime ornamental goldfish, shubunkins
and comets have become far prettier. Or Koi less pretty…
Other than that not a lot else had happened on the social
media that I follow.
“Daddies’ Little Angel TM” and Pogo
had come up for a sleepover last night; Pogo came to the woods with us for our
walk this morning. We went to Orlestone and had a good (if dull) walk.
The highlight was Pogo screaming at the normal people, I wish he wouldn’t.
We came home and I sent a complaint to geocaching dot com.
For years they’ve been selling “trackables”; a tag which you attach to
something or other and you can then log its visit to every geocache you find.
Each of the dogs has a trackable tag and from that you can tell that (for
example) Bailey has travelled thirteen thousand three hundred miles between
the geocaches she’s been to. However some people have been abusing the system
and logging (literally) thousands of the things every time they find a
film pot under a rock and the servers at geocaching dot com can’t cope. So to
sort this, the “IT experts” at geocaching dot com have poggered the
system so that you can only log twenty trackables every fifteen minutes, which
makes my telling the world that I’ve found a film pot under a rock take far
longer than it needs to if I find more than half a dozen.
I’ve complained to them in the past about similarly petty
triviality. In the past they’ve not cared: I doubt they will be bothered by
this one either.
I Munzed, got Wordle (fetid) on the third attempt
and then drove “Daddies’ Little Angel TM” and Pogo home.
Once home I had some sad news. My godson has died. He was
only thirty-four. His father had been on Facebook earlier saying he’d had a bad
night with him. He went in to see him at eight o’clock this morning and that
was it…
Over the years we’d never kept in touch as much as we
should have done. I suppose it’s some small consolation that they came over for
a few afternoons in the garden over the last couple of summers.
I went into the garden and pootled. Dog dung doesn’t gather
itself. I mowed the lawn. Seeing how the grass seeds I planted a while ago had
sprouted I planted some more. I say “planted”; I poked a hole in the
bare soil with a tent peg and shoved one of the bird seeds into it. But after a
while my back started hurting so I stopped and came inside.
I spent a little while looking at the house building and
contents insurance. It runs out at the end of November so I can’t actually get
the policy for a few days yet, but I thought I might as well start having a
look. My current insurer wants nearly nine hundred quid for the next year and
flatly refuses to go any cheaper. Hastings Direct want a few pence under five
hundred quid. It’s a no-brainer, isn’t it?
I then dozed in front of the telly watching episodes of “The Comic Strip Presents” until “er indoors TM”
boiled up sausages and chips before going bowling. I watched more Comic Strip
while pondering today’s sad news. I’ve pondered little else for most of the
day.
Death comes to us all. But at thirty-four?
And today marks my seven thousandth blog entry…
No comments:
Post a Comment