I slept reasonably well, but could have done with an hour’s
more kip. I made toast and watched the second half of the episode of “The
Witcher” that I started yesterday morning. It would seem that a lot of what
I’ve been watching was a retrospective… which would explain why it didn’t seem
to make a lot of sense.
I sparked up my lap-top. According to the local Facebook
pages it would seem that the local media are trying to stir it all up about our
local county councilor. Elected last May and given the job of deputy head
honcho of the environment portfolio he’s now sitting as a county council back
bencher with no explanation for his departure from the environment post. I
can’t pretend to be Reform UK’s greatest fan, but I’ve messaged the chap about
Operation Brock and the flooding river, and he took the trouble to reply
himself (rather than having some lackey do it like our MP did). The chap
was in the news recently for getting involved with the plight of the homeless
problem. He’s only been in post for six months; it would be a
shame to have someone who looks like they are doing something hounded out of
office.
“Daddies’ Little Angel TM” had another
day of it in Canterbury today, so I drove down to collect her and Pogo. As I
drove the pundits on the radio were interviewing someone or other from the
union that looks after professional football players. Apparently those who hoof
a ball round a field once a week (for a weekly pay packet which is
far in advance of what I get a year) have got the arse about their
workload. What with football league and various knockout cups and the Euros
their workload (if you can call it that) is increasing, and they feel
that having to hoof a ball round a field any more than once a week is
unreasonable.
Here’s an offer for those who pay their wages. I’ll quite
happily hoof a ball round a field once a day for five days a week, and I’ll
take their weekly wage as my yearly wage.
Seriously.
I collected the most recent fruit of my loin, deposited her
where she had to be, and took four dogs to Kings Wood. We had a minor incident…
we sometimes have this minor incident when Pogo is along. Being a very small
dog, Bailey generally keeps herself to herself. But when Pogo is with us she
knows that he’s got her back, so she sometimes gets gobby with other dogs safe
in the knowledge that if it all kicks off, Pogo will back her up (and Pogo
is quite a lump). I wish she wouldn’t…
We came home, and what with “Daddies’ Little Angel TM”
being finished earlier than expected I left “er indoors TM” washing
Morgan and took Pogo to collect her.
With her deposited home I came home for a late lunch. I had
a vague plan to go for another outing, but by the time I’d done an
anticlockwise circuit of half the county, a walk round the woods and a
clockwise circuit of half the county I had less than two hours of daylight left.
Instead I munzed, got Wordle (deuce) on the fourth attempt, wrote up some CPD, then
challenged the chess bots (and lost).
“er indoors TM” boiled up a very
good bit of dinner which we scoffed whilst watching a new thing on telly
featuring Sandi
Toksvig doing archeology. Have you ever watched archeology on the telly? It’s
a lie. It looks so interesting, but I know the truth.
About fifteen years ago we were regulars at the archeology
club. They would organize digs in which I would be expected to do all the digging.
It was hours of back-breaking work, but the moment I unearthed anything
remotely interesting I would be unceremoniously hoiked out of the trench I’d
dug so’s that the self-appointed experts could take over. We even had some pompous
and pretentious archeology undergraduate who would sit and watch me dig who actually
said that he was too important to do the menial grunt work of digging. His face
was a picture when I got out of the trench, gave him the shovel and told him
that I was more important than he was.
Apparently the archology club has since been subsumed by
the Lenham Heritage Society. Probably
for the best.
Oh – and Facebook would seem to have had a funny
turn.
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