I was shattered when I
came home last night and fell asleep in front of the telly within a
couple of minutes of sitting in front of the thing. I slept like a
log, and rather than waking early to watch my DVDs before work, I had
barely enough time to get myself organised this morning. It was as
well the car wasn't iced up - I didn't have time to be scraping
today.
As I drove I listened to
the radio. Being Sunday the morning's discussions were of an
ecclesiastical nature. There was an interview with a renown Christian
journalist who has apparently resigned because he's not happy that
the new Archbishop of Canterbury is against gay marriage. Well,
pardon the Archbishop for doing his job and following the basic
tenets of his faith! (Even if he and they is wrong)
I've done this argument
to death, but it still winds me up. How can anyone have a religion,
central to which is a book which lays down the law, and then picks
and chooses what bits of this book that they agree with.
So-called "Christians"
of my acquaintance try to wriggle out of this by claiming that
(apparently) somewhere in the Bible it says that haircuts are
bad, and would I advocate never having a haircut? (And then they
have an obligatory self-satisfied smirk.) Well, were I to believe
in that old twaddle, then yes, I would say haircuts were the work of
the Devil. And if it does say somewhere in the Book of Emphysema that
farting on a Tuesday is wrong, then you don't fart on a Tuesday.
Where do you draw the
line? You don't! Rules is rules. You either believe in your religion
or you don't. You don't take the bits that you like, ignore the rest,
and then expect to be taken seriously. I don't call myself a
vegetarian because I don't eat dogs and cats, but brush over the fact
that I hapily scoff cows, sheep, pigs and the occasional horse.
After this interview
there was a broadcast from a church service somewhere in Oxford. Some
mornings the church service is bright and happy, sometimes
spiritually uplifting. Today's wasn't. Today's was (quite frankly)
dull and turgid. Which was a shame - I have taken to enjoying the
Sunday service on the one Sunday in seven that I work.
I don't really mind
working the occasional weekend. Especially when (like today)
the weather was rather grey and murky. I was very much aware that I
was missing a geocaching expedition today. Last week the weather was
good and I enjoyed the stomp round Bedgebury. Whilst I would like to
have gone out today (and would have done so were I not working),
I didn't really mind being inside in the warm for a change. I can go
out with Furry Face during the week when the weather might be better.
Whilst at work I had a
nose bleed. When younger I used to have those with annoying
regularity. I've not had one for ages. The worst thing about nose
bleeds is other people...
Everyone else has a cure
for nose bleeds that doesn't work. Over the years I've been subjected
to keys down the neck, vice-like pinches of the nose, biting on
wooden blocks... None of these cures work any better than shoving a
tissue up my snozz and carrying on regardless. If any of my loyal
readers find themselves having a nose bleed, then I would advocate
shoving a tissue up your snozz and carrying on regardless. You'll
find that the louder that itinerant first-aiders advocate their
cures, the less personal experience they have had with nose bleeds.
I spent much of the day
looking out of the window. The weather started rather grottily, and
the initial dull overcast cloud had been predicted to give way to
sleet by the mid afternoon which would become heavy snow by the early
evening. I fretted for much of the day. I dislike driving in snow,
and a heavy dose of the stuff today could well become a week of sheet
ice everywhere when I would like to be taking my dog for walks.
And the sleet did come at
mid day, and the snow was falling quite impressively at 4pm. I kept
telling my colleague that with the ground being wet, the snow
wouldn't lay. Neither of us were convinced, but we were both hoping
that might be the case.
It turned out that the
heavy snows didn't lay, but had turned into slush. That made driving
home rather tricky. I knew that working in Canterbury meant that
sooner or later I would have to drive through horrible weather. It
wasn't *that* bad...
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