Being back on to "routine
hours" shifts I woke ten minutes before my alarm this
morning; some two hours earlier than I've been waking for this last
fortnight. It is odd how the body clock adjusts.
Over brekkie I watched an
episode of "Dad's Army" that I haven't seen before.
It was quite sad really; Captain Mainwaring had a love interest.
However for light entertainment Corporal Jones was carrying on with
Mrs Prosser. Corporal Jones was quite entertaining for once; probably
because he wasn't shouting about not liking it up 'em.
As I watched telly I had
a Patagonian Tripe Hound sleeping on my left and a pug sleeping on my
right. Soppy dogs.
Despite the ongoing
stomach ache I set off to work on a dark wet morning. The pundits on
the radio were presenting an article about the sad state of the
international Anglican church. Today the Archbishop of Canterbury was
to be presiding over a major
meeting of church leaders in Canterbury. One half of the world's
Anglicans want to modernise their philosophies and teachings (and
throw away the Bible); the other half want to stick with what the
church is actually all about.
There was a very
interesting interview with the Archbishop of Canterbury on the radio
in which he blathered meaningless platitudes to every single question
that was put to him, but the interview was rudely and suddenly cut
short by the news that David
Bowie had died. And that was the news for the rest of the drive
to work. An interview with the Leader of the Opposition was also
curtailed because David Bowie had died.
I got to work and did
what I had to amid speculation that were I a girl I would be *very*
high maintenance. I took that as a compliment.
As I drove home I turned
on the radio. Normally I listen to the evening's news and current
affairs show as I drive home. Tonight there was no news or current
affairs. Instead there was forty five minutes of various celebrities,
has-beens and vacuous windbags queuing up to say how much they loved
David Bowie.
I got home to find social
media simularly filled with postings from the apparently grieving and
heartbroken.
Don't get me wrong; I've
nothing against the chap, but (as I intimated last week) why
do so many people wait for a celebrity to die before they actually
show any interest in said celebrity?
I suppose that (if
nothing else) his death has de-railed the Lemmy bandwagon...
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