It turns out all that
screaming and shouting I heard last night *was*
football-related. This morning my Facebook feed was crawling with comments and
memes about how the England football team is doing. So many people were caught
up in the hype including many people who I know have no interest in football at
all. I’m reliably informed that by not shrieking banshee-like at the telly I’m
being unpatriotic. So why is it not unpatriotic not to know that the English
competitors do well at other international sporting competitions like squash,
kite-surfing, conkers, tiddlywinks, caber tossing, toe-wrestling, lawn-mower
wrestling… the
list goes on.
I had a few emails.
Several people had been out hunting my geocaches over the weekend. Some were
impressed; some not. Several need some attention; I shall have a look-see at
them over the next few days. Or that is my intention.
I had several
notifications about jobs in Essex; there seems to be loads of job vacancies in
Essex.
I took the dogs for a
walk round the park. Getting to the park was a tad traumatic. Why is it that
whilst on the way to school and nursery so many small children feel the need to
scream at the dogs and shout at then in stupid put-on voices? So many times the mothers apologize and relate some
bad experience the child has had with a dog, and then admit that had the child
not screamed and shouted in that stupid put-on
voice at the time then said bad experience would probably never have happened.
We got to the park; we
had a walk. We met OrangeHead (without
her posse) who was walking without a stick today; she was chatty as she
often is when on her own.
As we walked I checked
on two of my caches which had been flagged as needing a look-see. They got a
look-see.
We came home. I fed the
fish, the dogs barked at them; Fudge got his nose sucked. With a little time
spare I watched an episode of “Trailer
Park Boys”. "Daddy’s
Little Angel TM" has started watching that show; she’s
hooked.
I settled the hounds and eventually found where I'd left my car, then took
a little diversion down to the most south parts of Ashford to check on a
Wherigo. Having had a "didn't
find" log yesterday I went out and determined the reason for that
log. It was missing. I replaced it, then (as
I often do) I had another little geo-mission on the way to work.
Today's theme was "finding
ones I've failed on earlier". There are two along the A20 which I have
singularly failed to find before despite extensive searching. Today I found
both in a matter of seconds.
I drove up to Sainsbury's for petrol. I had hoped to get the car washed
too. I can distinctly remember there being a car wash in the car park at
Aylesford Sainsbury's. There wasn't.
Bearing in mind yesterday's debacle I drove straight past McDonalds and
had dinner in the work's canteen. Cauliflower cheese with beans and change out
of three quid. Can't be bad...
I did my
bit at work; yesterday's shift was hard work. Today's wasn't so bad, but I've
had better. And with work done I didn't come home. I'd arranged to do a late
shift this evening as "My
Boy TM" and his entourage were flying back from holiday this evening and if I
did the late shift I could go straight from work to collect them.
Sort of...
I finished my shift about two hours before the plane was due to land,
and I work about half an hour from the airport. So I had this plan to drive to
Clackett Lane services, get a cuppa and a lump of cake, and read my Kindle
until I got a phone call to say that "the
eagle had landed". I would then drive to the airport and
they would all be standing waiting in the pick-up zone.
What a good plan it was...
Like all plans that I
make it fell at the first hurdle. I got to Clackett Lane services at quarter to
ten only to find that they weren’t open twenty-four / seven as billed. The WH
Smiths and McDonalds were open; everything else was shut. I had a burger and
fries and explained the entire concept of McDonalds to some normal people who
were utterly out of their depth without a knife and fork.
I had orders to get
bread and milk for the returnees; there was none at Clackett Lane. I tried the
filling station; the oik on the counter explained that whilst they never
closed, they didn’t sell anything but petrol at night. He explained this in
between spraying his chicken sandwich everywhere. Clearly his mother had never
taught him not to speak with his mouth full. It was rather disgusting.
I eventually found
bread and milk in a filling station in Crawley.
With only minutes until
the flight was due to land I thought I might park up at the airport and wait in
the arrivals lounge. The car park was amazingly busy, but I soon got sorted,
and found a Costa that was open. I got a coffee and a bakewell tart (and almost change out of a fiver). I
devoured them whilst pretending to read my Kindle app. Whilst pretending to be
engrossed in the second book of “Game of
Thrones” I was actually engrossed with the bum of the rather fit young lady
whose shorts didn’t actually cover her bum.
In between Kindling and
bums I found also myself watching the police with sniffer dogs and
semi-automatic guns. I can see the need for them; I just wish there wasn’t a
need for them.
"My
Boy TM" eventually arrived; their flight had been delayed
by an hour. We made our way to the car park where I was amazed to find that an
hour and half’s parking cost thirteen quid. Thirteen quid !!
I
came home as quiet as a mouse and fell over all three dogs who had camped out by
the front door waiting for my return. That probably woke the entire street.
I
got to bed just after two o’clock… Mind you, the airport run was quite the
adventure.
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