I had a very intense
dream last night. About something rather trivial. I dreamed I was
testing a new shaving razor. Nothing interesting or remarkable, but
it was very vivid. This morning I found that the vibrating circuit in
my trusty Gillette Mach III had given up the ghost. I need a new
razor.
Co-incidence or
premonition? If it was premonition I just wish it had been about
something more interesting; something on which I might have put a bet
at the bookies and won some money.
And so to work. I had
planned to pick up the two new geocaches which had appeared on my
route to Canterbury over the weekend. But the rain was rather heavy,
so I decided against it.
Whilst on my way I pulled
in at the farm shop and bought some rather expensive chutney for
Friday's planned extravaganza. And to counteract having bought
something worth having I then stopped off at the cheapo-bargains
emporium. I like that place. No curly-wurlies this time, but
chocolate frogs were available at discount rates. However it has to
be said that my piss boiled a little in this shop.
Some people bother me.
Take for instance several such people I encountered today in the
cheapo-bargains emporium. With the entire universe to fart around in,
why do epically fat people choose the smallest alleyways and gangways
to stop in. Surely they could have a rest, stare into space, go into
a trace or desperately gasp for air anywhere. If they are having a
heart attack, then that is understandable and I will allow them that.
But to choose to deliberately block up the passage of the rest of
humanity in general (and me specifically) for no adequately explored
reason is just anti-social.
There were several such
hyper-tubsters in the shop today. *Really* fat people - so fat
that they didn't walk. Instead they actually lumbered; with each step
throwing their weight from side to side and then flinging a leg out
to catch themselves before gravity made them collapse. All of them
acting as though they were the only people in the shop; all randomly
stopping whenever and wherever the voices in their head told them to
pull up. Mostly at the narrowest parts of the shop; in aisles next to
where shelf filling was in progress, in the doorways, wherever three
other mega-lardies had already stopped to gossip. All in places where
had they moved on only two more yards they wouldn't have been in
anyone's way.
The fifth such porker to
block my passage this morning (!) nearly (but not quite) got pushed
flat on its chubby face and then trampled over. The next one
certainly will be(!)
As I drove I listened to
the news on the radio. I say "news" - there was no news
today. Just lots of talk about the recently deceased Margaret
Thatcher. Some were praising her, some reviling her. As always
politics divides society. One of the morning's commentators made an
interesting point - "Thatcherism" has become a
political byword, "Heathism", "Majorism",
"Blairism", "Brownism" and "Cameronism"
have not.
Having lived through the
Thatcher era I can say that I voted her in and I voted her out. And
I'm sure that I speak for a lot of people when I make the comment
that, like many mistakes, she seemed to be a good idea at the time.
Which is what the fat
people probably thought about randomly stopping dead wherever the
mood took them...
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