Despite
having spent much of yesterday yawning and telling everyone just how
tired I was I only slept for about five hours and lay awake stroking
a sleeping dog for an hour or so before finally getting up well
before 6am. I'd slept with an ear full of olive oil (having had
the thing bunged up all week) and it finally seems to have
cleared.
Over
a bit of toast I had a look-see on-line. I got just the teensiest bit
cross. Last week we had the in-out Euro referendum. Thee "outers"
won. Like it or not, that was the result. This morning (only a
week later) many of those who (loudly) voted "out"
were posting pro-remain propaganda on social media and also posting
rather hateful stuff about those who'd led the "out"
campaign.
Anyone
who reads this drivel will know that I don't agree with democracy
because a large part of the electorate (often including me)
really don't have a clue what is going on.... I might have mentioned
this before...
I
popped the lead onto "Furry Face TM"
and we went for a little walk round the park. It had rained overnight
and everwhere was wet. So my dog chose the soggiest place imaginable
to "drop his load". And he has developed an annoying
habit in that when he "drops his load" he drops one
bit then walks on before dropping the next bit, eventually leaving it
along a trail of six feet or more. It takes some clearing up;
especially when in grass taller than the dog is.
As
we squelched on with soaked trainers we met OrangeHead's dog who was
being walked by someone who looked like a younger version of
OrangeHead. A Mark II version perhaps?
We
also met lots of young families on their way to school. Some of the
smaller children were on bikes and were being constantly shrieked at
by mothers who were concerned that the children were too far ahead of
them. I watched one such family with amusement. Mother was forever
screaming for the child to slow down, and the child was forever
falling off of the bike.
Have
these mothers never cycled before? It is *very* difficult to cycle at
a walking pace; probably beyond the ability of the average six year
old. These mothers should either cycle alongside their children, or
leave all the bikes at home.
However,
apart from "Furry Face TM" trying
to pick a fight with a bus, our walk passed off relatively well. Once
home my dog had his brekkie and I drove off to meet "My Boy
TM" for a spot of brekkie. You can't beat
a fry-up. Or "frip" as they are known.
With
brekkie scoffed out plan was to go to Cheryl's grandfather's farm
where much of "Daddies Little Angel TM"'s
stuff had been stored when they moved house over the last winter. By
a process of elimination I'd determined that my ladder was either
there or it was lost. I'd last seen the ladder at their flat in
Folkestone and I was sure it had gone to the lock-up. Cheryl was
adamantit was not.
We
arrived, opened the lock-up, and the first thing I saw was my ladder.
Finding my ladder was like being reunited with an old friend...
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