Another poor night’s sleep. I gave up trying to
sleep shortly before 7am and sat looking at the beautiful view from our
chalet’s patio doors for a while as I guzzled a cup of coffee. All the time
trying to be quiet so as not to wake "er indoors TM"
and all the time being rather conscious of the fact that I was crashing around
much like "My Boy TM" used to when he was in “stealth mode”.
She is very much an “owl”; up for most of the night. On the other hand I’m a “lark”; wide awake at dawn.
With coffee guzzled I had a look-see at what
was going on in the world via the window of my lap-top. I struggled a little –
the free wi-fi at the Shillingford Bridge hotel was a little flaky.
LinkedIn suggested I might congratulate Matthew
Churchill on the anniversary of having worked in the same place for four years.
I didn’t feel confident to do so. Not only do I not know where he works, I have
no idea who he is either.
I then had another look at a message from the
astro club committee. It has been suggested we approach an astronaut to come to
give a talk to the club. One of the British astronauts was suggested, I won’t
name her (that should give it away!)
Although I’m not treasurer any more, I know how much money the club has. Whilst
we’re not poor, we are hardly rich either. We could afford to pay reasonable
expenses, and a night in a local hotel. The astronaut we approached had a
manager who does all her bookings for her. Her fee would be ten thousand
pounds. Ten thousand!!! Admittedly the fee is halved for “educational bookings” but even so she’d only have to get off her
arse three times a year to live better than I do.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not implying she’s
doing anything wrong. But there is no denying that I’d like to command such a
fee. I know I could charge it; I doubt anyone would pay it though.
I wonder how many times this astronaut does got
booked to give talks?
I also had an email telling me that exotic and
refined Asian women were hot for me, which was nice. Whilst they too charged
for their services I suspect they came in somewhat cheaper than ten thousand
pounds.
As I tried to surf the net the chap in the next
chalet walked past our window carrying a toilet seat. I did wonder if it was
his own, or if it was the hotel’s which he was taking to reception to make a
complaint, but I didn’t like to ask.
By the time "er indoors TM"
emerged from her pit I was going stir-crazy. We went down for brekkie; the
swingers’ coach was still in the car park but I hoped we were late enough to
have missed them. However we didn’t miss “Mr
Beard”. “Mr Beard” had a beard
that was probably almost (but not quite)
as large as his head. It was so immense that at every mouthful he was having to
open his mouth to its utmost extent (like
a young bird in its nest) to get food through the beard and into his mouth.
I watched for a few minutes then ate far too
much brekkie.
We packed our bags and checked out of the
hotel. I quite liked the Shillingford Bridge hotel – I’d certainly go back
there again. I particularly liked the balcony; even if there was a marked
shortage of peasants at which I might flick peanuts.
We made our way home along a rather circuitous
route (for geo-jasmer purposes) but
was at "My Boy TM"’s house before 4pm. We collected
a rather excited "Furry Face TM" and pausing only
briefly to unload the car we took him round the park for a walk.
And then an evening in front of my own telly.
Big Bang Theory, Bake-off, Red Dwarf, Gogglebox… we had a good holiday, but it
is good to be home…
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