Another rough night. I went to the loo shortly after
four o’clock, and then took each dog in turn out. Treacle must have been half
asleep when it was her turn; two turds dropped out when she came back in. Have
I ever mentioned what delightful creatures dogs can be?
I wasn’t going to get back to sleep after that so I
made toast and watched an episode of “The Young Ones” then had a look at
the Internet. With less than a day to go, we finally reached our monthly Munzee
Clan target. Next month’s Munzee Clan War will be a cause for a squabble. Each
month up to ten of us club together to form a clan, and together we have
various Munzing to do. The more we Munz, the more in-game rewards we get.
There are various levels for which we can aim in which
as well as group challenges, we all have individual targets to reach. Every
month everyone regularly achieves all their goals by day fourteen… except one
particular player. Every month this one eventually finishes with only hours to
spare and doesn’t communicate with anyone at all during the month. And everyone
else gets twitchy and worried.
There’s moves to have her hoiked out of the Clan…
I set off to work and spent five minutes scraping
the ice off of the car. It was a cold one this morning. Flushed with success at
yesterday's lunch I went to the co-op again and got more satay
sticks, and a chicken salad sandwich.
I then set off up the motorway to work. As I drove the
pundits on the radio were talking about how the Eurostar services were
resuming. The channel tunnel trains had packed up yesterday with issues with
their power. Needless to say everyone who was stranded was kicking off, but as
the chap on the radio said, there really isn't any backup to public transport.
It was pointed out that the amount of customers who would fill one Eurostar
would fill eighteen coaches, and there simply isn't that amount of coaches sitting
about just in case they might be needed.
Ironically my cousin had been in Paris over the
weekend and had found herself stuck there, and had things to say on Facebook
about it.
There was also talk about the new
Archbishop of Canterbury who will be taking up
her post soon. She's only a couple of years older than me, and has already been
the country's chief nurse.
Appointments like this bother me. What possible
transferrable skills can a boss nurse have that might be useful to an
archbishop? I suspect that (like so many others these days) she is a
professional manager whose skill is in bossing around those who actually do the
job. I could be doing her a disservice... perhaps I am. But from the country's
boss nurse to the country's boss vicar? To do both would be something of a
meteoric career.
Interestingly she is the first woman to be Archbishop
of Canterbury... and theologians are bending over backwards to gloss over that
the bit in the Bible (1 Corinthians 14:34-35) which actually says
"Women should remain silent in the churches. For they are not permitted
to speak, but must be in submission, as the law says. If they want to inquire
about something, they should ask their own husbands at home; for it is
disgraceful for a woman to speak in the church".
Personally I'm all up for equal rights for all, but
when you actually take the time to read it, the Bible isn't.
Don't take my word for it - go read it for yourself.
You’ll be surprised…
I got to work and bashed on the door. I'd forgotten to
pick up my pass card this morning. Eventually I got let in. I did my bit, and
at mid-morning “er indoors TM” sent
a message to say that the snails (for the fish tank) that I'd ordered on
Amazon had arrived.
Back in the day New Year's Eve would have been an
incredibly quiet day... Not any more. Back in the day we would all have been
going home at least a couple of hours early. I actually stayed late this
evening.
I came home and had a look at my new pets. I’d paid
for five little snails; I got six. Hopefully they will clean up the fish tank.
Time will tell; it always does.
“er indoors TM” boiled up a
rather good bit of scran which we devoured whilst watching another episode of “Motherland”
then had a little go on the Infinity Table before joining friends on a New
Year’s Zoom meet. Back in the day we always used to spend New Year with Jose
and Maria, but over the last few years since lockdown we’ve started having New
Year Zoom meets. If nothing else it’s a lot less work for Maria.
And that's it for another year. I've lost three stone
in weight. I've had a very good holiday in the New Forest. We’ve started a
monthly games night which I rather (very much) enjoy. it's not been
*all* bad. But a lot of it has been… shall I say “less than ideal”.
I describe this diary as “recording history as I
see it”
and consequently I can choose not to record the bits I don’t want to dwell on.
And so I suspect many of my loyal readers will be surprised to find out that
2025 was something of a pisser.
It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to realise that I’ve not
once mentioned my favourite little girl since April 9th when I was rather
cryptic. She remains my favourite person. It’s time to say
something on the matter…
To cut a very long and very painful story short, the state
in its infinite wisdom has decreed that she should go for adoption. This was
decided in April, and much of the year has been spent unsuccessfully fighting
the system.
Obviously I (together with our family and some of the
social workers) disagree entirely but I shall gloss over the specifics for
fear of finding myself accused of libel. Talking totally hypothetically of
course, having seen the British justice system in action I can imagine myself
being found guilty in a libel case in which what I have said would have been
the actual truth, and in which those who have lied to my face and to others (and
have been caught out doing so) would continue to do so with impunity.
Talking totally hypothetically of course…
If anyone disagrees with my cynicism, here’s a few examples of British
justice. And if you’d like to stand me a pint or two I’ll regale you the
stories of two dear friends of mine who both went to prison for a year when
they shouldn’t have done. Or the tale of the fraudster who despite being as
guilty as sin was let off with a “not guilty” verdict.
British justice, eh…
In the meantime I’ve been told that as a grandparent I have
absolutely no right to see my smallest grandchild whatsoever. From here on in I
will have “indirect contact” once a year. Which means I shall get a
letter on her birthday, and realistically the next time I can hope to see her
will be when she comes of age… in April 2040… *if* she wants to see her
birth family.
It would seem that I’ve got a better than even chance (about
sixty-six per cent) of living till then, but I’ve written her a letter just
in case. I shall add to it as time goes by.
I would also make the observation that if you or anyone you
know is finding parenting hard, under no circumstances whatsoever would I ever
recommend asking for (so-called) professional help.
That’s all rather depressing, isn’t it? One of the things
that *seriously* boils my piss is when the sententious tell me off for
being intolerant because I don’t know what battles others might be fighting… Up
till now I’ve avoided getting into a “my life is shittier than yours”
argument, but were I to do so I suspect I would win hands-down against most
people right now.
Well, that was my battle of the last year. Christmas has
been particularly hard, but I shall put my smiley face back on… and move onward
and upward.
I don’t do miserable very well. I’ve sulked enough.
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