23 March 2015 (Monday) - At the Chip Shop
After a quite a lot of walking yesterday followed by an ale session (that I promised myself I wouldn't have) I slept like a log until a wet nose thrust itself into my left armpit shortly before 3am. As my dog then snored so I lay awake for the rest of the night.
I got up to find very little had happened overnight on social media, and I set off to work. The news was much the same as ever really. The pundits were up in arms that a prospective Conservative candidate for the next election had allegedly organised a race riot and then had it de-organised in order to make it look as though he was marvellous. Whilst what he has (alledgedly) done is despicable, it's the sort of cheap stunt that I for one have come to expect of politicians.
Mind you there's no excuse for what happened to Nigel Farage yesterday. Leader of UKIP, and potentially the worst thing that could happen to the UK, the poor chap and his family were hounded out of a pub by those who would oppose his politics. It's rather sad that those who would see UKIP fail in the polls have actually garnered sympathy for the UKIP leader by their actions.
Or is this another political publicity stunt? I don't know.
I stopped off at Morrisons before work. Having been there in the evenings just lately it seemed odd to do my own packing this morning. Just recently there have been Brownies at the checkouts doing packing as a fund-raiser. I don't mind the girls themselves, but I did feel obliged to give them a donation. I don't mind giving the donation, but I do mind being made to feel obliged to give said donation.
Work was work; at lunchtime I saxed. "Bridge over Troubled Water" is crossing some very troubled water. And "Moon River" is rather troubled as well.
As usual I'd parked at the far end of the car park so as not to disturb anyone. However when I went out at lunch time there was a chap in his car; ten yards from mine. He had all the doors of his car open and was sitting in the driver's seat revving the engine/ As I started saxing so he glared at me and revved the engine louder.
He did that for forty minutes. He must have money (as well as petrol) to burn.
After work I went home via the chip shop in Nunnery Fields. With "er indoors TM" off on a course in Southampton I've been left to fend for myself. It's possible I might not survive till Friday.
I'd bought a pasty in Morrisons this morning for tea, and thought some chips might accompany it well. (Gourmet dining here you know!)
It was a shame that whilst in the chip shop I was accosted by the village idiot's thicker sister.
Whilst another *one* (Beryl) was having a good old gossip with the woman behind the counter (and the queue grew and grew), the village idiot's thicker sister latched on to me and told me all about her operation, and how she can no longer "strut her stuff" until her tummy gets better. Apparently she lives in a box-room; and it would seem to be her life's dream to meet someone else who lives in a box-room. Mind you her pleasant manner soon evaporated when he got to the front of the queue and placed her order. She was going to have to rough it with a battered sausage because loquacious Beryl had had the last of the chicken nuggets. It very nearly came to blows.
It took twenty minutes for me to get a bag of chips. It would have been quicker to cook them myself.
I came home, and watched "Poldark" as I scoffed. I then set about getting the laundry done, and whilst the washing machine did its thing I had a look at the astro club's accounts.
And then there was a near disaster. The SkyPlus box had ofrgotten I'd told it to record "Gotham". It's forgetting quite a lot these days. Maybe time for a new one. A free new one. Or Sky can go whistle and we'll go with Virgin.