I spent a while on the Internet this morning
looking at photographs from
last weekend’s steam rally at Kingsfold. The photos were taken by a chap
I’ve met less than a dozen times. It’s amazing how the Internet changes things.
I can remember people coming onto work with their holiday photos, and everyone
else couldn’t get away quick enough.
Nowadays people put an album of photographs
up on Flickr or Facebook or Photobucket or some such site, and I for one am
transfixed.
And so to the dentist for a scale and polish.
What is it with dentist’s waiting rooms - why is there always an angry man in
the corner arguing with himself? And why is he always sitting by the magazines
so that you can't get a magazine without attracting the nutter's attention? And
the magazines themselves - oh dear! Our dental surgery has a whole load of magazines
about flying light aircraft all dated 2001 - 2003. Hardly very riveting.
I got in to see the fangquack only five
minutes later than scheduled. I must admit my bloke's usually good with timekeeping.
That is, he's good with timekeeping or he cancels the appointment the day
before. Today was good - and he asked after my tie. I went in there once
wearing a tie featuring the various pump clips from the Shepherd Neame brewery,
and that tie would seem to have stuck in his mind.
The fangquack had a root round in my gob,
took some X-rays and sent me on my way for another six months; on the
understanding that if the X-rays were iffy, he'd phone me. He does this a lot:
he tells me that the fillings in my fangs are getting old, and that he’ll have
to replace them soon. He then X-rays them, and we hear no more about it for a
couple of years. He’s been doing this for ages – keeping threatening to replace
the fillings, but never doing it. All the time they aren’t hurting, I’m happy
to have them left as they are.
Getting to work in Canterbury was then quite
a game. I started off stuck behind a tractor which was dragging a very strange metal
object. After five miles, that tractor was replaced with one which was spraying
hay all over the road. I followed that one from Wye to Chartham which, for
those of my loyal readers who don't know the area, is quite a way. By the time I'd
waited for idiot drivers to fart about in Shalmsford Street, a journey which
usually takes me twenty five minutes took well over an hour.
I did my bit at work, and then came home to
find Sid (and his entourage) were
visiting. So in the spirit of keeping up with the healthy new lifestyle I took
Sid for a walk. It has to be said he’s easier to walk than my other grand-dog:
he doesn’t pull at all. If anything I had to drag him about. I had quite a
major walk planned, but I had to cut it short as Sid had another engagement
this evening.
Unfortunately Sid had a potty emergency this evening.
You wouldn’t think that such a small dog could generate so much diarrhoea. Fortunately
it was on the lino. Bless him...
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