Last night I whinged that
someone had deleted one of my geocaching logs. I asked the chap why
he'd done that, and he replied that he'd gone out to the cache in
question, checked the piece of paper inside and he maintained that
he'd not seen my signature. Now I don't remember all two thousand
five hundred and ninety seven (not that I'm counting) of the logs
that I've signed, but I did remember this one. I went to that place
first in October 2012 with HSL1 - I blogged about the day, And I
subsequently went back with er indoors TM"
on my mother's birthday when I remembered seeing my name on the log.
I also returned at another point with Suzy's assistant (patent
pending) and again remember pointing out my squiggle on that
occasion too.
So I asked this chap for
a photo of the log entry from the date in question, and within an
hour a reply came through that he'd made a mistake, "MB"
had been inscribed all along, and the fellow said that I could
re-write my log. So I did that with a sense of self-righteous
indignation.
It's silly how such a
trivial incident of no real importance boiled my piss so much. I
mentioned this episode on on-line geocaching forums, and it turns out
that quite a few people who own geocaches do go out and read the
paper logs. And (amazingly) they really do check that people
who claim they've found the things on-line have actually done so. Can
you believe it? As if wasting a life hunting for sandwich boxes in
the wilderness isn't enough.
Their long winter
evenings must just fly by...
As always my dog helped
me with my toast as I watched episodes of "Family Guy" over
brekkie. It's a show of which I've seen odd episodes now and then. I
really should get the DVDs; they are relatively cheap in the CEX
shop.
And I checked out social
media. Yesterday I missed a charity fundraiser I'd been intending to
get to. A shame - I'd actually been looking forward to that as being
the start of the Christmas season. I was rather disappointed not to
have got along to show my support.
To work - I quite look
forward to the drive to work when I am working on Sundays. Rather
than milking sensation from the trivia of the day, on a Sunday the
radio is usually of a more philosophical and pensive tone. Usually.
Today was something of a disappointment. The Catholic Church in
Scotland is (apparently) rooting
out the bad apples in it's own barrel. A laudable undertaking;
but there is a fine line between weeding out evil and actively going
on a witch-hunt. The radio actually featured a short interview with
someone who had been chastised for hugging a small child (which
had been in church care) when said child was crying. I used to
hug the some of the cubs (as a scout leader) when they were
especially upset or tearful. Was that wrong? Should I expect to be
crucified in the popular press for having done so?
I suppose that this is
nothing more than a sad sign of our times.
After the news, which
dragged on interminably this morning, was the radio's church service.
Often uplifting; today's was best described as dreary. With the
beginning of advent I was hoping for cheery Christmas carols. I was
disappointed.
Once at work I did my
bit. Over lunch I got a message. er indoors TM"
had taken "Furry Face TM" for a
walk, and apparently not only had my dog eaten something disgusting,
he'd rolled in fox dung as well. I don't know what I was supposed to
do from a distance of twenty miles; all I could do was to hope that
someone else would have hosed the fox poo off of him long before I
came home.
Once home I opened the
first window of my
lego advent calendar, I wonder where this will go this year...
No comments:
Post a Comment