It sounds like some new
people have moved in next door; I heard voices at 7am; then I went
back to sleep for a bit. I finally got up shortlly after 9am and took
"Furry Face TM" round the park
where we played with his ball. He's still struggling to understand
the concept of "fetch"; he either tries to eat the
ball, or runs off chasing it until it stops bouncing at which point
he looses interest and goes off sniffing after whatever else he can
find.
On our walk today we
attacked Bernie, played with Ralph, chased a squirrel up a tree,
fought with another Patagonian Tripe-Hound, and scared a "duckie"
who looked like he was "good with colours" and/or
"baked a moist sponge".
This "duckie"
was rather precious: every time Fudge (or any other dog) went
near his dog (which looked somewhat like an effeminate feather
duster) the "duckie" shrieked, picked his dog
up and minced in circles until the offending pooches went away. I do
hope this "delightful fellow" won't be a permanent
fixture in the Viccie Park dog walking scene. There are enough
"plums" there already; we don't need any more who
feel that their pampered pooch should be the only dog allowed in the
park.
I did have something of a
sulk tooday; by rights we should have been camping this weekend. The
second full weekend in June has traditionally been the first Teston
kite festival of the year.
But for various reasons
(which I have blogged to death in the past) June Teston
doesn't happen any more; which is a shame.
Last night Jason gave me
a cheque for the astro club; I thought I'd pay it into the bank so I
drove to town. At the very last minute I remembered that I still had
the roof box on the car. Woops. Haivng narrowly avoided smacking the
box off of the car I went to a car park without height barriers which
I could get into. I paid the money into the bank, I got a McBanana
milk shake for lunch, and I got myself a sexy new hat too.
Whilst out and about I
got petrol. For over two years I've been getting petrol in Canterbury
as it's cheaper there than in Ashford. A new place has opened on
Ashford's ring road doing the cheapest petrol for miles around. I
coulnd't turn that down.
On to my sax lesson which
went well. My intermittent squawkiness is due to my embrochure.
Apparently. I'm not getting a consistent seal of my gob around my
mouthpiece. Teacher's sax has a much flatter mouthpiece. She gave me
a website of a place in Crowborough
which does all sorts of saxohone bits and pieces. But nothing on
their website is cheap. A new mouthpiece looks to cost more than my
entire saxophone cost me in the first place. But Crowborough isn't
*that* far away. I could go for a day out, if nothing else.
Looking at the map it's not a million miles away from Telescope
House; I might blag the asto club into a day trip.
"Daddies Little
Angel TM" came to visit; she'd had a
twenty-something week scan. Her and "Spudgun"
(the baby's latest name) seem to be doing well. I played my
sax at her until she said it sounded nice, then we drove her home.
And so to church. Enrique
was being confirmed. The service was interesting; it was
conducted by the Bishop's stunt double, the Bishop himself having
recently croaked. His sermon was wonderful to hear. He started off
with some serious sensible and reasonable propositions and slowly
introduced aspects of religious uncertainty. So slowly and
insiduously were they introduced that suddenly complete gibberish was
being presented as plausible fact. Mind you I did have more than a
passing snigger at the alter-boy who looked just like the TV
detective Columbo.
However as easy as it
wold be to ridicule the entire thing I found myself watching the
priest and the lance-Bishop intently. No matter how nonsensical their
propositions, from their expressions it was clear they fervently
beleived in it.
Afterwards Maria had put
on a buffet. Very tasty...
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