I had a particularly
vivid dream last night in which my dog had developed the power of
speech and was continually crying "please don't hurt me
Granddad" which I found to be very upsetting. As if I'd ever
hurt that soppy pup.
I was woken by the alarm
(which very rarely happens) and went downstairs to find "Furry
Face TM" had had a little "potty
accident" in the night and he was looking incredibly upset
and worried. Bearing in mind my dream I was rather spooked by this.
I watched "Family
Guy" over brekkie, fed my toast crusts to "Furry
Face TM" who was still rather subdued,
did a little tidying, and set off to work on what was a beautiful
morning compared to yesterday. Yesterday I was tearing my hair out in
boredom with the rain; today was glorious sunshine.
As I drove I listened to
the radio. I say "listened"; one of the first items
was the morning's sport update. Sport has no interest for me, and I
don't really listen to that. And having lost concentration on the
sport I didn't really pay much attention to the rest of the program
until the pundits were crucifying some bigwig from the RSPCA.
Apparently the RSPCA have had a cat put to sleep for
having long hair.
As always there was far
more to the story than the sensationalist headline, but during the
interview it came to light that the RSPCA are facing a funding
crisis. Their income from donations is plummeting as more and more
people feel the RSPCA are less interested in animal welfare and more
interested in playing
silly political games.
I had a wry smile over
this. From 1984 to 1986 we lived in a flat the landlady of which was
an active member of a
crackpot-lefty-greenie-tree-hugging-animal-rights-political-activist
bunch. Such groups were rife in the early 1980s. I can distinctly
remember a conversation with her when she told me that her group
would never have any respect from the public, that they were seen as
being a bunch of loonies, and that she and others of her group were
all going to seek office in the RSPCA and use that as a platform from
which they would be able to get taken seriously. Looks like they've
finally achieved their goal.
I stopped off at
Morrisons for a little shopping before work. It wasn't so much a
supermarket as a children's play area. I nearly got mowed down by
brats on scooters. Several times. There were no parents to be seen,
and the staff didn't seem bothered. Perhaps the staff use the store
as a playground for their children during school holidays?
To work, which was much
the same as ever. Lunchtime sax practice was odd; I was in mid toot
when I felt a spot of rain. In ten seconds (literally) the sky went
black and torrential rain hit; complete with thunder and lightning. I
dived into the car and carried on blowing ion there for twenty
minutes until the storm stopped every bit as quickly as it had
started. This was just as well - I could now get back to work without
getting soaked.
Home (through the
rain) for lamb chops and jacket potatoes. Very tasty. And with
"er indoors TM" off bowling I
settled down on the sofa with my dog and caught up with "The
Mill" which I'd recorded last night. Esther's had a baby....
where did that come from?
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