8 December 2017 (Friday) - Victoria's Birthday
Another good night; I *think* I might have heard the dogs quarrelling in the small hours, but I wasn’t sure. I woke with Treacle in a heap on top of me and came downstairs to find Fudge asleep on the sofa so maybe it was all a dream?
Usually brekkie is a peaceful time but today it was rather fraught with "er indoors TM" chasing round the living room trying to retrieve a pair of my undercrackers from the puppy. As the two of them chased, I sparked up my lap-top to see what had been going on in the world of social media overnight. Not a lot had happened really. There was a minor spat on one of the work-related Facebook groups I follow. Some chap was having a gripe that he spends ages trying to photograph what he sees down his microscope. He then posts it on his Facebook page and gets no interest whatsoever. However on the rare occasion that he posts it on “The Facebook Blood Test Page” he gets hundreds of “likes” and comments from all around the world. But he would rather people “liked” and commented on *his* page because he wants the kudos of having the “likes” and comments on his page. He doesn’t want “The Facebook Blood Test Page” getting the credit for his efforts. To further compound the chap’s stupidity he posts to “The Facebook Blood Test Page” under a pseudonym because he doesn’t want to be bombarded with friend requests from people he doesn’t know. This morning this fellow was utterly unable to understand why people thought he was a twit.
I got the leads on the dogs and we scrounged a lift from "er indoors TM" as she went to work. Hopping out of her car over at the Repton Manor estate meant we had a rather good walk home. It was a shame my back was hurtling for much of the walk, but such is life.
We came home through the park where both dogs ran into the river and started playing. Didn’t they realise just how cold it was today?
Just as I came home my phone beeped. I had an email. Regular readers of this drivel may recall a rant I wrote a couple of weeks ago about how the Department of the Environment funded fencing at a nearby fishery. Bearing in mind that this fishery charges over eight hundred quid a year I rather felt that public money would be far better spent on those fisheries that are within the financial reach of the average person. I wrote to the Department of the Environment and told them so, and they sent their reply today.
Basically there is a fund they run to help various fisheries, and Wingham fisheries got the money because they asked for it. No one else did.
And then the phone actually rang. Some chap with a thick Asian accent called with the usual scam of "I am the windows computer department and your computer is spreading the virus". When I laughed at him he got rather aggressive. He demanded to know what I was laughing at; he was *not* amused when I told him that I was laughing at him. He started ranting and blustering and got very stressy when I told him that he was about ten years too late with this scam. Usually they hang up before I can annoy them; I was glad I could get him going. Usually these people phone me when I’m trying to sleep when I’m pre-night shift, and hang up very quickly, so I saw today as something of a pay-back.
If you get a phone call from 01791 647812, don’t bother answering.
Much to the dogs’ disgust I then spent over an hour tidying up. I sat them both in their baskets so they wouldn’t be in my way, but they wouldn’t stay put. No matter where I tried to tidy or hoover, so a dog was in the way. After an hour I had a bin full of rubbish but the living room looks just as it always did.
Over lunch I watched more episodes of “Still Game”. I discovered it on Netflix last night; it’s really good. It is also over fifteen years old; why have I never seen it before? It is not unlike another favourite of mine “Rab C Nesbit”, but you can actually understand what they are saying in this show.
I settled the dogs and went round to see "Daddy’s Little Angel TM". It was a shame that "Stormageddon - Bringer of Destruction TM" insisted on running round in the nip, but not everyone can take a moral stance.
I then went round to the Windmill…
Karl, Tracey and the girls had come down to Ashford; I had been charged with sorting out somewhere for dinner. I’d decided on going to the Windmill in Hythe Road. OK – I might be biased here, but I defy anyone to come up with a better ale selection and better food within thirty miles of Ashford. The beer was excellent, the food wonderful.
With five pints of rather good ale sunk and perhaps the best burger I’ve ever had scoffed we moved on to the bowling alley where I (arguably) had my arse handed to me on a plate…