As
I walked round the park with the dogs this morning I could see that the park
had been used quite a bit over the weekend. Walking round the place up to five
times a week over the last few years I've found Viccie Park to be kept
immaculately. However during the weekend the good weather had brought out the
rabble who rarely (if ever) use the
park, and their carnage had been strewn everywhere.
But
it speaks volumes that we walked round there at five past nine this morning,
and as we walked we could see the council’s clean-up operation was already in
full swing. There were half a dozen blokes cheerfully emptying the bins and
clearing the rubbish away.
What
boiled my piss the most about the mess in the park wasn't the mess. That was
already being tidied by a council who keep the park in tip-top condition. What
wound me up was the nasty bitter sniping about the mess that I saw on Facebook;
posted from people who also rarely (if
ever) use the park and who claimed that the mess was the usual state of
affairs.
There
are *so* many people who live in the
town (but rarely venture outside their
own front door) who delight in calling the place "Trashford". I often wonder why – for all that it is a catchy
rhyme, it is utterly undeserved. If people calling it “Trashford” feel the place *really*
is such a shite-hole, why do they live here?
Over
the last thirty years I've come to quite like the place.
With
our walk done I settled the hounds and collected "My Boy TM".
We went to the fishing tackle shop. He was keen that I should get an in-line
method feeder. (No – I had no idea what
one was either). Basically it is a next generation version of what I used
to call a swimfeeder. (What do you mean
“what’s a swimfeeder?!)
More and more I find I
need to take"My
Boy TM" with me to the tackle shop to act as a guide.
Back in the day when I first started fishing things were
different. The rod and reel remain the same, but the paraphernalia at the
business end of the fishing tackle has changed beyond all recognition over the
last forty years. "My Boy TM" and the nice man in
the shop had a good laugh at old-school-dad,
even if both admitted that neither of them could tie a spade-ended hook.
Something else which
has changed is the price of all the fishing gear. Back in the day when I
first started fishing, things were a damn sight cheaper. I used to go fishing
regularly, financed from my pocket money. Today’s two method feeders (and a few other odds and sods) set me
back over forty quid.
After our tackle
shopping we had planned to go to Stone Green Nursery to get something to
replace the acer (it’s a small tree!)
I bought last year. It clearly hadn’t survived the winter. But rather than
driving out to the outlying villages, the first fruit of my loin suggested we
stay local.
I’ve bought a small palm. "My Boy TM"
likes palms. I wonder if I will.
Despite having been up
for two night shifts I was determined not to waste the whole day asleep so I
made a start pootling in the garden. The lawn doesn’t mow itself. And I had a
good rummage in the shed; there is a foul smell in there. I’m convinced
something has died in there over the winter but despite a good search I could
find no corpses.
Eventually I gave in
and went off to bed where I slept for two hours until the dogs went mental as
the Avon catalogue was delivered. I saw that as being God’s way of telling me
to get up.
So I got up and fed my
undercrackers to the washing machine. It is still making odd noises from time
to time. Part of me thinks I should give the thing an honorable retirement and
get a new one; part of me thinks I should thrash it until it finally dies
whilst still on the job.
"er indoors TM" came home from
work, boiled up a rather good bit of dinner, had a fight with the printer and
went off bowling. I ironed shirts whilst watching the last few episodes of “Lost in Space”.
Now I’ve seen all of the first season I find myself
wondering if I liked it or not. I’m not sure.. I think I will have to watch the
second season before I make up my mind…
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