I set off for work early
last night hoping for a First to Find on my way.... (it's a
hunting tupperware thing). I got to where I was supposed to be
easily enough; only taking a fifteen miles detour. I found somewhere
corresponding to the description I'd been given. I searched for
twenty minutes until an interfering busybody came bustling over and
asked me if she could ask me what I was doing. I said she could; and
that foxed her.
And then I gave up
searching and went on to work.
"Daddies Little
Angel TM" phoned me: whilst I'd been on my
way to work, someone had tried to nick Sam-I-Am's moped. When doing
so they'd been disturbed, and had dropped their bank cards. That
should give the police an easy nick - it only took a few minutes
with the bank card to find the miscreant's mother on Facebook.
One of the good things
about being on my own on the night shifts is I can have the radio on;
not many people will admit to liking listening to Radio Four. My
heart fell when the evening's first program was a pretentiously
high-brow discourse about the Prokofiev's classic musical work "Peter
and the Wolf". I say "classic"; I thought
it was dreadful when it was forced on me at school years ago, and
hasn't improved in the meantime.
There was then a radio
play about King Arthur. Unlike the TV show "Merlin"
(which was basically the same tale) there was no mention of
Sir BigTits. Mind you I suppose Sir BigTits doesn't work quite so
well on the radio, but I can't help but think that they could have
had a go. Mind you Sir Lancelot "lanced a lot" with
Guinevere so I can't say they didn't serve up a dose of smut.
The Reith Lectures then
bleated on about they way in which medical professionals work,
calling for greater transparency about their performance; all but
advocating witch-hunts, and completely avoiding the sad topic of the
problems of recruitment that such a culture of blame would cause.
A quiz about things
musical, an elegy for a dead poet, some so-called comedy, some
new-age hippie-drivel for the solstice, the shipping forecast, and
then my attention drifted somewhat as Radio Four joined the BBC's
World Service at 1am.
I did my bit until the
relief arrived shortly before 8am, and then I came home. And again
(still) listened to Radio Four as I went. Being the last
Sunday before Christmas I was hoping for a nice uplifting carol
service on the radio. Instead there were old farts squalling dirges.
I put on a CD instead
Once home I made myself
some brekkie, sat down with it in front of the telly, and woke up two
hours later. I then took "Furry Face TM"
round to the park where the lumberjacks have finished hacking away
all trees, shrubs and plants from around the river. I suppose there
is a reason for what they've done; but I can't help but think that
they've been rather extreme.
Once home we went down to
Folkestone to see the baby. He's growing so much - he can now support
himself when he sits up. I wound Charlie up a little; we went
shopping in Folkestone's cheapo-bargains shop, and then I slept on
the sofa for a little.
We came home, pausing
only briefly to pay a flying visit to Lisa, and then I set about
solving geo-puzzles. There's a major walk planned for New Year's Day.
I have a theory that if on the walk I make a great fuss about having
solutions for the easier puzzles, everyone else will automatically
assume I've also solved the more difficult ones and give me the
solutions which I shall say that "Furry Face TM"
has eaten.
It's a good plan; my
amphibious associate has been using it for a couple of years...
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