Being
on a late shift I had a bit of a lie in this morning. And something
happened which hasn't happened for ages: my back started hurting
because I'd been in bed for too long. I can't remember the last time
that staying in my pit gave me backache. It used to all the time, but
hasn't for quite some time. I suspect that the cause may have
something to do with yesterday's sledging. After all, my old
roller-blading injury was playing up today as well.
I'd been dreading today -
driving to Canterbury in the snow was something I simply didn't want
to do. I toyed with the idea of pulling a sickie, but I wasn't in
that much pain, so I bit the bullet and went in. And the roads were
quite passable really. I was even brave enough to brave Morrison's
car park to get to their petrol station.
Work was work: I did as little
as was humanly possible and came home again. And once home I read
something interesting. As we are now celebrating the 200th
anniversary of the birth of Charles Dickens, it
would seem that the average child lacks the wherewithal to
appreciate the literature of Dickens. I'm not surprised really. And
that's no reflection on the youth of today, or on the education
system.
Have you ever read anything by
Dickens? I've been reading a lot of "old" literature
on my Kindle lately; "Gulliver's Travels", "Moby
Dick" and the like. Oh it was hard work. The trouble with
*literature* is it's not something that you enjoy. It has sentences
that are so long that when you reach the end of one, you've actually
forgotten what the beginning was all about. I'm not surprised kids
can't cope with Dickens. I can't either.
And another anniversary
celebrated today is the sixtieth anniversary of Her Majesty's
ascension to the throne. I for one think she's done a wonderful job.
And anyone who says differently is talking out of their....
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