Up far earlier than I
would normally be on a Sunday. Over a spot of brekkie I checked out
what was going on in the World Wide Wubbish. One of the Facebook
groups to which I subscribe had some worrying news. Worrying, but
realistically a sad sign of the times. The Queens Head pub in Rye has
closed down. In more affluent times I would go to Rye for something
of a pub crawl a few times every year. There are some good pubs in
Rye. Or that is there used to be some good pubs in Rye. The Queens
Head was one such - the only place in which I've ever seen a FILO
beer on the hand pump outside of the FILO itself. And now the Queens
Head has closed for the last time. Last week at Rye bonfire parade I
saw that another old favourite, The Union Inn, had shut down as well.
It's all rather sad really. But, as I've said before, in this new
world order of austerity when I can brew five gallons of half-decent
ale at home for the price of half a gallon in the pub I'm not going
to give them my money. A few years ago I was quite the connoisseur of
local pubs. A few years ago I was over five stone heavier...
Having fussed Fudge,
ignored the washing up, and done my early morning fiddling about I
set off to work. After ten minutes I turned the car round and came
back for my packed lunch. Woops!
As I drove I listened to
the morning's church service on the radio. Whilst on the way to work
one Sunday earlier in the year I heard one such service which I found
to be quite spiritual and uplifting. However since then whenever I've
listened to the Sunday service I've found them to be something of a
disappointment in comparison. This morning's service was one of the
better ones, and was quite interesting. It was celebrating (if
that is the right word) national
prisons week It was interesting that this service was aired
immediately after a news item about whether or not prisoners should
have the vote. The Prime Minister has taken the line of "over
his dead body". Which is rather confrontational.
And in making that
statement he conforms to the stereotype attitude so prevalent these
days. It always amazes me that prisons and prisoners are something
about which everyone has very strong opinions, but (generally) very
little experience. It's common knowledge how sort life is in prison.
Or that is it's common knowledge to those who don't actually know
anything. With two good friends of mine having been sentenced to
prison for crimes for which a gently smacked bun would have been more
appropriate, I've found out (albeit vicariously) just how harsh the
penal system can be. And there's no denying that my experiences of
having visited a prison over a period of a year have certainly
changed my opinion of the entire penal system. The morning's service
on the radio featured an interview with a prisoner who described
prison as somewhere where he could only survive by being friendly to
everyone but being friends with no one. I would not want anyone to
spend any time in such an atmosphere.
And so to work where I
did my bit. Whilst continually looking out of the window at the
glorious day outside. I would rather have been out and about with
family and friends today. Days off mid-week are very good provided
there is someone else to do things with. Having said that, it was
probably as well that I was working today or I would have been
tempted to have set up a stall to flog paintings at the afternoon's
psychic fair. I've been to two of those so far and have (just about)
covered my costs. As the day progressed I had a few texts from family
and friends telling me about what I was missing. Including missing
Fudge slipping the lead and running riot in a field of sheep. From
what I can determine the problem wasn't so much with the pestilential
pup as operator error. It seemed to me that his lead had not been
attached to his collar but to the flimsy link holding his I.D. tag in
place. That's one mistake that won't happen again.
Also being working meant
I got to miss Fudge's first bath (he usually has a shower),
and I got to miss the spectacle of Fudge eating a tennis ball. I got
him the ball last week- I thought he'd like to play with a ball. He
thought he'd like to eat it. That dog has no sense. Having eaten
something which gave him the gut-rot last Monday (and put him off
food for two days!) I caught him trying to eat a dead mouse on
Friday's walk and today he ate a tennis ball. In the past he's eaten
his own bed. The strangest thing about his eating habits is that he's
not actually a greedy dog. He will leave half of his meals to eat a
bit later; there is often some of his brekkie still in the bowl at
mid-afternoon which he will come back to later when the mood takes
him.
Wish I could do that with
my brekkie...
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