Over
brekkie I looked at the Internet. For once no transsexuals had sent me friend
requests on Facebook which was probably for the best. The attention-seeker
whose supposedly gay ex-bestie which was porking his ex-girlfriend had removed
all the attention-seeking posts he’s put up over the last week. That was a
shame really; it made for such entertaining reading.
I
did have an email which boiled my piss somewhat. There is an odd arrogance
among those who rummage in hedges for film pots regarding their GPS technology.
Having compared many over the years I’m pretty sure than generally they are all
of a muchness, and none are accurate to more than a few yards. However everyone
who brandishes any sort of sat-nat device will demand that theirs is infallibly
accurate and that everyone else’s is crap in comparison. Furthermore the less
experience any given hunter of Tupperware has with a range of devices, the more
vocal in their own infallibility they become.
This
morning someone told me that they went out yesterday and couldn’t find one
small sandwich box I’d hidden. He’d followed his GPS unit to some stile
somewhere (God knows where – there are no
stiles in the area) and found nothing. But when he read the logs of people
who *had* found the thing he read mention of a huge tree and saw photos of a
huge tree (which foxed him). With
sixty-odd people having found this tree (it’s
big enough!) you would have thought that I’d given the correct GPS
co-ordinates, but he’d strongly suggested I went out and checked them as it was
rather unlikely that he’d ballsed it up as his device is spot-on (!)
I
took the hounds round the park for our morning constitutional. In one of life’s
small bonuses both dogs crapped at the same time within a couple of feet of
each other. There are those who wouldn’t see that as a bonus at all, but it
made the clearing up their turds that bit easier. Clearing up their turds also has the added
advantage that you can (within reason)
see what they have been eating. Treacle’s dung was full of small bits of black
plastic this morning. That would be from my old slippers. I said I didn’t want
her shewing those…
As
we came through the park I was amazed at what an eyesore the new flats
overlooking the park have become. The old gas works really was preferable. I
suppose it is too late to start a campaign to have them knocked down?
As
I set off to work I was hoping that "Women's
Hour" might try to explain the "trans" thing a bit better. They didn't; instead they had some
dull stuff about women prison officers. So I turned the radio off and squalled
along to my dull music.
I
drove out to Tenterden as I could remember there being a rather god off-licence
there where I might get some decent port. But I was wrong. What I could
distinctly remember being an off-licence was actually a gun shop.
Woops!
As
I was in the area I drove out to Sandhurst where I thought I might try for some
geo-resuscitations. I'd got four caches in my sights.
The
first was a rather straightforward film pot which really was under a rock. I
soon found it. Happy dance.
The
second involved scrambling up a steep bank and then clambering up a tree. I scrambled and clambered and got to within
two feet of my target but couldn't quite get to it. I can't help but feel that
if I hadn't been on my own but had a gaggle of like-minded idiots cheering me
on at the base of the tree I might well have plucked up the courage to go for
it.
The
third target involved wading. I think I could see where I had to go, but the
water looked a bit too cold and a bit too deep to go in wearing just my pants.
The
fourth involved solving a puzzle based on a war memorial. It was a rather
beautiful war memorial, and with puzzle solved and cache found I realised I'd
made a mistake and I'd not intended to go for this cache at all.
Suddenly
realising that time was pushing on I drove to work. As I do when on the late
shift these days I popped into the hospital canteen for work. There was
something of a hold up as two "delightful
people" had the concept of "canteen" explained to them.
Oh,
my piss boiled.
It
ain't difficult; you point to what you want, the woman behind the counter slaps
it on a plate, you pay for it, you eat it. How hard can it be? These two idiots
pointed at each item on the counter and demanded a full description of what the
foods were, how they were prepared, what they cost... It was with a sense of
relief that I finally got my chicken pie and chips.
The
rest of the day was rather dull…
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