19 July 2018 (Thursday) - Squabbling

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.