I
woke at the crack of dawn and lay watching the clock slowly edge towards
getting up time. Eventually I gave up watching the clock and got up half an
hour earlier than I might have done.
I
stepped on the scales and saw that (amazingly)
my weight is holding constant. Probably still several stones over what it might
be, but constant is better than rising. Thinking diety thoughts I had a bowl of
granola for brekkie. According to our old friend science this could be more
healthy than toast.
As
I scoffed I watched an episode of "Orange is the New Black". The
writers had thought up a bizarre twist to the storyline in which the
protagonists are now parading round in saucy undercrackers.
Whoever
wrote that show didn't muck about.
With
little happening on the internet I set off for work. I set off rather earlier
than I usually do seeing how I'm on a two-week secondment to Pembury.
Ironically as I drove the pundits on the radio were talking about how more
lives are being saved by the nation treating seriously injured people at designated
major trauma centers rather than in local hospitals. There's no denying the
figures; people do have a better chance
of survival if shipped to a specialist centre. however (as I have found) working in one can sometimes be fraught.
The
pundits were also talking about the complete shambles that the security firm
G4S has made
of Birmingham prison and how the prison has now returned to government
control. By one of life's random co-incidences privately-run prisons is a topic
currently being investigated in "Orange
is the New Black". Surely even the most feeble-minded simpleton must
realise that there is no profit to be made from running a prison properly, so
why have the nations prisons been farmed out to the private sector?
As
I drove I was conscious of a white van behind me. I couldn't miss it; it
couldn't have got much closer without driving into my boot. It was a shame that
the driver chose to overtake (very
dangerously) one hundred yards before we met a road closure so that my
being able to turn round first meant I had this idiot up my backside for a few
more miles.
If
any of my loyal readers see a van from the Enterprise company with registration
HT18 ZPL, just hope someone else is driving it.
Before
I'd left home I'd had a look at the geo-map. There was a geocache which could
be found without *too* much of a
detour on the way to work by solving a puzzle connected with a pub which closed
years ago. I drove past where the pub was. It is now a private house that has
kept the pub's name, and having found the pub's name and done a few sums I was
able to park up, walk down a driveway and rummage rather suspiciously in a
hedge.
It
was a shame I didn't find the geocache I was looking for but rummaging in a
hedge isn't entirely unrewarding. I did find a slug.
I
got to work, and when I had a spare five minutes I phoned Enterprise Rent-a-Car
and had a whinge about their van that nearly drove me off the road. They
listened politely, but I don't think they were really that bothered.
However
on the plus side of life I got to scoff home-made lemon drizzle cake at tea
break which was something of a result.
I
did my bit, and came home via the vets; the dogs' flea and worming treatments
were ready to be collected. The tick collars weren’t; I shall go back tomorrow.
Once home "er
indoors TM"
boiled up a decent bit of dinner and went off bowling.
I
watched the first episode of the new series “Krypton” which is based on the sci-fi antics of Superman’s grandad.
It was… I shall reserve judgement, but I will make the observation that all
fiction works when one has believable characters doing believable things no
matter how ridiculous the situation. So far Super-Grandad seems to be motivated
only by doing whatever frankly stupid thing will move the show’s plot along.
I
spent much of the evening sniggering at Treacle. When the dogs are given a
treat they act *very* differently.
Fudge scoffs his right away. Treacle hides hers and comes back to it later.
Sometimes weeks later, but she comes back to it. However in a really
doom-brained fit of idiocy last night she'd hidden her treat in Fudge's basket,
forgotten she’d then moved it, and consequently spent much of this evening in a
sense of panic every time Fudge went anywhere near his basket.
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