Last night’s squabble
on the Geocaching in Kent Facebook page went on for much of the evening. It
didn’t need to; it was over something rather petty, and (needless to say) those accused weren’t as black as they had been
painted. These arguments *always* are
over something rather petty, and those accused are *never* as black as they are painted.
In order to attempt to restore some sort of
harmony to what was once a rather good group I’ve suggested a group walk this
Sunday. It might do some good, it might not. I hope it does; over the years
I’ve walked away from the snake club and the astronomy club and the kite fliers
because of the endless bickering.
Perhaps I need to be looking
for yet another hobby on which to waste my time.
I also saw something
which was unfortunately a sad sign of the times. There was a lot of grumbling
on one of the local Facebook groups because the William Harvey pub had shut
down. So many people were bemoaning the demise of the British pub. Whilst I
sympathise, pubs are an expensive proposition. A round of drinks in the average
pub comes to over twenty quid - you can go to Tesco and be drinking at home all
night long for that price.
It
would seem that for all that the population of Ashford want the William Harvey
to remain open, very few of them have handed any money over its counter in the
last few years, and until the proprietor can pay his debts of forty thousand
quid, the place will stay shut.
I set off for work. "My Boy TM"
had given me instructions to check the car’s dodgy
tyre's pressure this morning. I gave the thing a kick just like he did, but the
kick told me nothing. Presumably you have to be trained to know what you are
expecting when you hoof a tyre?
I
drove to Brookfield garage where their air pump told me the pressure was
twenty. I could picture my old primary school teacher Mr Jarvis asking "twenty what? - Units, you nit!"
However I did know that twenty wasn't good. It was supposed to be thirty-two
somethings (meganewtons per cubic parsec?).
I
filled the thing to the required pressure, then drove home again; I'd forgotten
my phone.
I
drove to work slowly. As I drove there was consternation being expressed on the
radio. Something else which hasn't been thought out about Brexit is that when
the lorry drivers go abroad they need some permit or other (I didn't quite hear exactly what it was).
You get the permit from the post office. Currently there are about a hundred
thousand of these issued every year. After Brexit there will be a need for
about seven million every year. No one would seem to have addressed that
increase either in logistics or workload.
I got to work and (during a break) phoned the nearby tyre
centre. They said they could do me this afternoon, so I did my bit and set off
to the Aylesford
Tyre & Auto Centre where we met with disaster. There is some
special gadget that is needed to get the wheels off of my car. It is unique to
my car. I thought it was in a compartment in the boot. It wasn’t. The nice man
at Aylesford
Tyre & Auto Centre had a poke around and said he could overinflate
the tyre so I could get to the Renault dealer where they could order me a new
gadget. He suggested I could leave the car with them for the five days it would
take for the gadget to arrive. With absolutely no alternative I set off for the
Renault dealer.
After two minutes I had
a stroke of genius. My car had been in the garage a couple of weeks ago for a
new wheel bearing. Perhaps the nice people at the garage still had the gadget.
I pulled up and asked them.
They didn’t have it.
As I turned off my
phone there was a shirty tapping on my car window. Apparently I’d inadvertently
pulled up on the forecourt of the Waitrose distribution centre. There was no
one else within twenty yards, but the jobsworth security guard on the gate had
sent over a rather petty-minded driver from the Muller corporation to tell me
to sling my hook. I tried reason, but the rather petty-minded driver from the
Muller corporation wasn’t having any of it. So I told him exactly where he
could stick his fruit corners. He said he didn’t like my attitude. I said I
didn’t much like his but I had the advantage that I wasn’t acting like a cock
whilst wearing a company uniform. I also asked if he would kindly tell the
jobsworth security guard on the gate to get knotted as well.
If any of my loyal
readers fancy a yogurt, there are plenty of other brands to buy… and plenty of
other shops to buy them from.
As I drove up the road
I thought I might pull up and have one last look for the special tyre gadget
thingy. I found something metal in the glove compartment, and drove back to the
Aylesford
Tyre & Auto Centre. I showed my thingy to the nice man. Being
experienced in thingies, the nice man was able to tell me that it wasn’t what
we wanted. He suggested he helped me look, and he found the gadget we needed in
a secret compartment in the car that I never knew existed.
I was on my way fifteen
minutes later. There had been a nail in the tyre causing a slow puncture. They
charged me ten quid. I can’t recommend the Aylesford Tyre & Auto Centre
highly enough.
Once home I took the
hounds round the park. As we walked we met a gaggle of young lads drinking some
cans of lager. One of them pointed at Fudge and said “I want to be that dog. I could p*ss where I want and sh*t where I want”.
He then pointed at me and said “And that
bloke will sort out all my problems and worries”. We all laughed, and I
shook his hand.
After a rather good bit of scoff this evening "My Boy TM"
texted. It’s thirty-two *pounds per
square inch*… apparently.
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