No four o’clock barking
sessions, no playful dogs at silly o’clock; I had a wonderful night fast
asleep.
It was only a shame to
come downstairs to find a packet of “love
hearts” had been strewn everywhere. I blame Treacle.
Over brekkie I had a
look-see at the Internet and I’m afraid my piss boiled. Yet another of the
world’s top geocachers had been announced. This chap had hidden five Wherigoes
(I’ve hidden twenty-one – all with more
“favourite points” than his). I emailed geo-HQ and asked if I’d *only* hidden those twenty-one Wherigoes
(and not the two hundred others)
would I have been part of the elite gang. I explained that I didn’t want to get
into a long argument; just a “yes or no”
answer would suffice. I wonder if they will reply. Somehow I doubt it.
I wondered if I should
cancel the boat trip out to the Red Sands fort that I was trying to charter. A
rather high drop-out rate combined with the reticence of the people at the boat
hire to answer emails, and hearing that on Monday the sea was as calm as a mill
pond and yet the boat’s captain felt the sea was too rough to go on to the fort
have all left me thinking “no”.
I then spent an hour or
so solving geo-puzzles in the New Forest area just because I could.
I took the dogs round
the park for our morning constitutional. There was a minor hiccup when one of
the normal people (and his dog)
wouldn’t leave us alone. He was a bit odd, and Rolo was continually trying to
fight with his dog. Eventually he pissed off, and we had a fun five minutes playing in
the river.
With our walk done I
had a plan to put the old lino from the kitchen onto the shed floor. After five
minutes I decided against this idea. There was just too much stuff in the shed
which needed to be shifted before I could do the job. Instead I tidied the back
yard and did a tip run. However there was a little problem. The tip doesn’t
take half-empty tins of paint. Apparently I have to let them dry out and then
the tip will take the dried paint and the tins separately. I was reliably
assured that tins of wet paint are the most dangerous things in the world. I
reflected on just how brave I’d been yesterday dealing with the stuff myself,
and decided to restrain myself from laughing out loud at the jobsworth idiot
who *really* did think that tins of
wet paint are the most dangerous things in the world.
I came back via B&Q
where I picked up a new yard brush. There was quite a queue at the tills. One
of the self-service machines was broken. One of the members of staff who was
standing idly by said he couldn’t help as his shift was over and he was going
home. I thought it was odd that he was still standing there doing nothing ten
minutes later, but what do I know? After all, I’m silly enough to handle tins
of wet paint.
I had a spot of lunch, edited
Wikipedia some more, and then (once
I’d set tins of paint to dry out) set up the pressure washer. I gave the
back yard a serious scrubbing. The idea was that it would take some time; it
was done in an hour. So bearing in mind I’m supposed to be on holiday I put my
feet up and watched a film. “Tau”
was something of a disappointment. So much so that I slept through much of it.
Over fish and chips we
watched last week’s episode of “Humans”;
again something of a disappointment. Mankind is faced with armies of sentient
robots; friends or foes? Science fiction did this them to death (much better) seventy years ago. I’m just
waiting for one of the androids to be named “George
10”.
Mind you yesterday’s
episode of “Young Sheldon” was rather
good, if only for the fact that Meemaw is dating the Grand Nagus (from Star Trek)
No comments:
Post a Comment