I slept like a log; finally waking just
a few minutes before the alarm was about to go off. I noticed my little dog
wasn’t on the bed; is it him that gives me restless nights? I found "Furry
Face TM" asleep on the sofa. He seemed content, and as I
scoffed brekkie and watched the antic of Pop Larkin on the telly, so my dog
snored.
I set the washing machine loose on my
undercrackers, then had a quick look at the Internet. I had the usual haul of
emails including Amazon trying to sell me that which I’d already bought from
them, and supposedly dethroned African royalty trying to scam me.
Not a lot had happened on Facebook, and
so I set off to work.
As I drove the pundits on the radio did
their level best to boil my piss. They were interviewing some official or other
of the rail union RMT. The RMT have been embroiled in some dispute with train
operators for months and the official was furious that the dispute has been
resolved without them. In fact the chap seemed determined to carry on negotiations
over a problem that had been solved.
I don’t know who this bloke was, but I’d
like to meet him, if only to offer a slap. In theory trade unions are a brilliant
idea. In practice they attract troublemaking twits like this who clearly was
more interested in the sound of his own voice than in resolving the very
problems that the union was there to solve.
There was also talk about houses aren’t
selling anywhere near as much as they used to. All manner of rubbish was being
spouted about why houses weren’t selling. However the so-called experts were
adamant that falling house sales was in no way related to house prices.
What rubbish.
When I took out my first mortgage it was
standard to offer two and a half times your annual salary as a mortgage. Now it
is up to five times your salary. Clearly the average man in the street can’t
afford a house.
I made good time getting to work, and
once there I did my thing. My Ham Street Lover moved house today; ideally I
would have helped him move. But taking leave on my second week in the place
seemed a little bit cheeky.
And with work done I came home via the
petrol station. I have a gauge in my car which tells me how far I can go before
refuelling. When I worked in Ashford I could do four hundred and twenty miles on
a full tank. When I moved to Canterbury that became five hundred and twenty
miles; presumably because my car is more efficient on “A” roads than it is around town. I had hoped for even more
efficiency from motorway driving; but today’s refuelling gave me the same range
that it always has done for the last five years.
I came home and watched an episode of
The Crystal Maze. I could be wrong, but I think this episode had the worst team
ever. At one point they had two team members locked in; at the end they had one
crystal, and their final score was minus thirty-seven.
Oh, how I laughed…
My dog’s just been sick….
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