I had a rather good sleep last night - when the
dogs are peaceful, so is everyone else. I made toast and watched more "Foundation"
then had a quick look on-line. Periodically all those memes about "I'm
here for you" and "if anyone needs a friend" appear
on Facebook; quite often posted by those people who turned their backs when
others really did need a friend. I'm afraid my piss boiled with a couple of
them, and I had to stop myself embarking on a little name-and-shame session
this morning. Am I being cynical in thinking that there is far more kudos to be
had from appearing to be a friend than actually being one?
Probably.
No one seemed to be
having a birthday this morning, and with no emails of note I got myself
organised and set off to work.
As I drove the pundits
on the radio were talking about how shoplifting locally is
on the increase. This made me think. Shoplifting has always been a thing in
the south east. In the late 1970s most of class 4B at school would take sweetie
orders during the mornings and at lunchtime go to the local shop and nick that
for which they had orders. After lunchtimes the local shop looked like the
locusts had passed through. I can remember that after a week of this the
headmaster announced that the local shops were out of bounds. I can remember
this very distinctly; our total snob of a headmaster wasn't upset by the
shoplifting but by the damage to the school's reputation.
And
when “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” used to run a shop in Margate
a few years back she and all the shops in the area used to close up at school
chuck-out time because of the amount of stuff that would get pilfered.
It would seem that
after forty years of this being commonplace the authorities have finally
decided to do something about it. As well they should.
There was loads of
other drivel on the radio too; over-runs of budgets on HS2, bombings the the
middle east, George Harrison. I didn't really pay that much attention to the
radio. I was concentrating on staying alive. With the motorway mostly three
lanes from Ashford to Maidstone I'd sadly managed to coincide going up the
motorway with the emptying of one of the ferries. You can always tell; there
are miles of slow moving lorries in the motorway's slow lane and miles of
lorries going about one mile per hour faster in the middle lane. Once I'd
managed to get onto the motorway (the lorries don't like letting you on!)
I had the choice of travelling in the slow lane at just under forty miles an
hour, or in the fast lane with idiots only yards from the back bumper flashing
their lights in their impatience no matter how fast I went.
Work was work; I got my
pension form signed and witnessed and returned to management and then had a
rather good day. And being on the early shift I got out early.
I drove home with good
intentions of taking the dogs to Orlestone, but as I came down the motorway so
the drizzle started. And then the tyre low pressure warning came on for all
four tyres. Coming on for all four tyres isn’t as bad as just one coming on. If
t is just one, then there’s probably a nail through it. All four going at the
same time is just air slowly escaping over time (I hope!).
I got home, pumped up all
four tyres, and ended up filthy. Back in the day I used to get equally grubby
hands when tightening the chain on my motorbike, and back in the day I always
had a tub of Swarfega in the house for the clean-up. Apparently the stuff is
still going; I thought they went bust years ago. I shall have to get some; soap
and a nail brush doesn’t come close to what the green stuff used to do.
Once I’d finally got my
hands reasonably clean the drizzle had become full-on rain. The dogs weren’t
overly keen on feeding the fish, so I quietly cancelled the walk round
Orlestone with a clear conscience.
I wonder what’s for dinner?
