Following a very busy and
exciting and late night last night I slept right through until 5am
this morning. I woke to find a small dog curled up at the end of the
bed. He really shouldn't be there, but I let him sleep, and went
downstairs for brekkie and the last episode of the mini-series of
"Mrs Biggs". Charmian has now left Ronnie, and has
made a life for herself in Australia. All seemed to be well that
ended well. But that's TV drama. I suspect real life was different.
As I mentioned the other day, having watched the series based on real
people's experiences and crimes I can't help but wonder what I would
have done in their position.
I then left for work
slightly earlier than usual to hunt for the day's cache. It was still
dark so I took a torch. I hate caching in the dark; you look
incredibly suspicious and you can't actually see anything. I failed
to find three different caches whilst scrubbling in the darkness in
various places, and was nearly (but not quite) late for work.
As I drove I listened to
the news. There was an interesting and entertaining article about a
scandal emanating from the
picturesque Cambridgeshire village of Trumpington.
Apparently the village
hall had been booked for what seemed to be a bona fide engagement,
but had been billed on muckier sies on the Internet to be something
featuring spanking, flogging and "kink on a budget". I had
no idea that bondage parties were booked into village halls. The
good villagers of Trumpington were simularly ignorant and were
shocked. And rightly so. Someone has to take a moral stance in these
depraved times. And their doing so saves me having to make the
effort. Mind you part of me can't help but wonder if they had
actually done anything wrong.
The prude being
interviewed on the radio tried to appear to be open-minded and
claimed that her objection was that their hall was being booked for
people who didn't live in the area. She claimed that they wanted the
village hall to be used for locals. She didn't convince me of her
sincerity.
It was a shame that this
revelation was immediately followed by an article about an amazing
discovery in space. Rather than talking about pulsars the pundits
picked up on the fact that the discoverer of the first pulsar to be
found hailed from Cambridgeshire, and would not shut up with
implications of depravity.
And so to work, where the
French lessons continued. Maintenant il y a un canard dans l'arbre.
Le canard est bati un bibloteque pour les enfants. Il n'y a pas des
enfants dans l'abre, mais l'oiseau est tres stupide. Peut etre il est
capable a apprendre de la bibloteque pour les enfants. Aussi il y a
un gendarmerie dans l'arbre just que l'oiseau est batard encore un
fois.
I don't think my student
is learning quite as well as he might; nor is he finding much
opportunity to apply his newfound knowledge.
In between telling the
assembled throng about life in French trees I did my bit, and then
came home the scenic route via Canterbury's city wall. In a complete
contrast to the morning's caching fiasco I found two caches in as
many minutes...
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