I
*really* hurt when I staggered out of
my pit this morning. I must have over-done the gardening yesterday. Mind you
that stone bench and those concrete cores were probably just a bit too heavy
for me to have moved on my own.
Over
brekkie I watched last week's episode of "Gotham" (it was rather
good) then wasted ten minutes trying to find what the puppy had done with
my shoe before setting off to work.
As
I drove the pundits on the radio were telling how the child Alfie Evans’ parents
have been given the right to
appeal the decision not to let their child be taken to Italy. Much as I
feel sorry for the boy, having read up on the matter, he seems to have
irreversible brain damage and will never have anything approaching a normal
life. Is it right to keep him alive? I wish questions like this were a lot more
straight-forward than they are.
Purely
for myself, I've made it quite clear that if I am ever in that state I want my
plug pulling. The pulling of Alfie's plug is not my decision (for which I am very grateful), but those
who would be responsible for me if I was ever in that state know full well that
I would consider not pulling my plug in those circumstances to be an act of
cruelty.
There
was also talk on the radio of a young lad who is taking the Home Secretary to
court. Being an immigrant himself he feels that people in his position have to
wait an unreasonable length of time before the Home Office decided whether or
not to give then resident status. He's taking legal steps to get the process
speeded up.
In
the past I have blogged ad-nauseum about how the country needs immigrant
workers, but in this case the chap should shut his rattle and face being put on
the next banana boat back home. I'm sorry, but the UK is bending over backwards
to help all and sundry, and people who have clearly benefited from this
generosity are now taking this piss by using our own legal system against us.
This
is *exactly* the sort of thing that
fuels the right-wing hate propaganda that so many immigrants face.
Despite
the efforts of some rather terrible drivers between junctions seven and five on
the M20 motorway I eventually got to work for the early shift. I hadn't been
working long when I was assigned my challenge for next month's works bake-off
competition. I'm in the bread and pastry category, and I've decided I'm going
to have a crack at
making a malt loaf.
In celebration of this
I had one of the cakes that was on offer at tea time. Two hundred calories for
on piddly little apple pie!!
Being on an early shift
meant an early finish. As I left work I saw that the geocache not five miles
from work (that had gone live half an
hour after my shift started) was still unfound. An FTF beckoned. I was
unlucky – I was beaten by forty minutes.
Once I got home the
dogs demanded a walk; we went round the park and burned off the calories in
that apple pie I had this morning. But no more - one pissy little apple pie
which took less than a minute to devour took an hour to walk off.
We got home beating the
rain by seconds. I went out in just a shirt, and as we came home I closed the
door to the start of seriously torrential rain.
That was lucky.
"er indoors TM" will be home
soon. I hope she’s in a “cooking my
dinner” mood. She’s got eight hundred calories to play with; which sounds a
*lot* more than it actually is…
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