I’d had something of a
late night last night, to say nothing of a few glasses of amaretto after a
bottle of wine. With a late start today I was hoping for something of a lie-in,
so I wasn’t best pleased to hear the screams of “nice next door” having noisy sex at seven o’clock this morning.
When they do this “her-next-door”
often screams “Oh Oliver, Oh Oliver”
a lot, even though “him-next-door” is
called Bradley. Presumably they’ve got a bit of the old saucy role-playing
going on. So… Today’s burning question…
Who is your favourite
fantasy Oliver – is it Twist, Cromwell or Hardy?
Having asked today’s
burning question on Facebook I checked my emails. There was one from LinkedIn
which had an article about the dangers of being nice at work. Apparently “Having a supportive and overly cordial work
culture can undermine new and innovative ideas” and “environments that stress positivity and downplay conflict can suppress
the tension needed to surface ideas and avoid bad decisions.”. I’ve worked
in places that are nice, and I’ve worked in places that are not. I know where
I’d rather be.
I put the leads on the
dogs. This is a task which is becoming progressively easier. For some time the
prelude to walkies has been two small dogs running round the house barking and
shouting hysterically, and then fighting with each other as I struggle to get
their collars on. A few days ago I told them that I’d had enough of this, and
that they will sit nicely to have their collars attached (whether they like it or not).
So far this seems to
make things much quicker.
As we walked through
the park we met a thug who was walking two whippets. As we got within twenty
yards of him he shouted “FRIENDLY!!!”.
I smiled sweetly whilst trying to determine whether that was an order to his
dogs to be friendly, information to me that his dogs were friendly, a question
to determine whether my dogs were friendly, or his trying to avoid a fight with
the voices in his own head.
Perhaps it is my
grammar school education which has made me pedantic, but life is so much less
vague when one uses complete sentences.
Shortly after this we
encountered a gaggle of Gurkhas who were reduced to terror by Treacle. For a
group with such a reputation for being double-hard they all seem to be
terrified of dogs.
As we came home along
Christchurch Road the bin men were emptying the bins. As bin men do. Having
emptied the bins they then left them blocking the pavement. The chap twenty
yards ahead of me was moving all the bins out of the way for the chap in the
wheelchair fifteen yards ahead of me.
I considered
complaining to the council about the bin men; I have done so before. Whilst
their parks and gardens department is brilliant, the dustbin section leaves a
lot to be desired. But I decided against it. Previous complaints achieved
nothing.
With the dogs settled I
set off to the late shift. I hadn't been rota-ed to do a late shift today, but
one arose, a volunteer was needed, and (bearing
in mind the
thirty-third rule of acquisition)
I volunteered to step into the breach. I left for work early thinking I
might have a little geo-mission on the way to work.
I started off acting
rather suspiciously in the graveyard at Leeds church where there was a field
puzzle to solve. I found the numbers I needed; I did the sums, and decided
against walking half a mile through wet grass. Instead I went on to the village
sign at Leeds where there was another field puzzle. After five minutes of
unsuccessful rummaging in a wet hedge I checked my sums and found I was fifty
yards adrift. I moved those fifty yards, and soon found what I was looking for
in a different wet hedge.
Despite the drizzle I
drove on to Chart Sutton for another field puzzle and I found what I was
looking for. It had narrowly avoided being squished by a falling tree.
I did have plans to
move on to Boughton Monchelsea, but time and weather were against me.
I went on to the
aquatic shop in Aylesford where I spent nearly fifty quid on fish food for the
pond fish. I hope they are grateful - a garden pond isn't a cheap hobby. Mind
you, talking of money, I couldn't believe the price of the Koi there. Have I *really* got several thousand pounds
worth of fish swimming round my pond?
Somehow (unlike the pond shop) I doubt I'd get
much if *I* tried to sell the fish.
As it was on the way to
work I had McLunch. Much as it went against the grain, sensible use of my
phone's myfitnesspal app told me that three chicken selects and a small bag of
fries would come in at just over six hundred calories. The trick at McDonald's
is to substitute the McShake (one
squillion calories) for a diet coke (one
calorie).
And then I went to
work. Work was good, but like all late shifts, the day's adventure was over by
mid day.
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