Having spent much of last
weekend sulking at the prospect of two night shifts, they weren’t that bad at
all. Last night’s featured a weak D. Weak Ds are a rather rare peculiarity of
the human erythrocyte and are pretty much a matter of the utmost indifference
to most of humanity. But they do it for me.
As I came home I couldn’t help
but look at the traffic queuing up for miles along the west-bound carriageway
of the motorway. It was bad yesterday as well. I shall have to bear that in
mind when I’m next on day shifts. I also listened to the radio where the
pundits on the radio were openly laughing at the Foreign
Secretary’s latest brain-wave. It’s no secret that Jeremy Hunt isn’t
the nation’s favourite politician. He was universally despised as health
secretary, and now his latest move has exceeded the expectations of even his
staunchest critics.
He has an idea that rather than
having career diplomats heading up Britain’s embassies and filling
ambassadorial roles, we might have businessmen instead. On the one hand there
are career professionals who have spent a lifetime learning the ways of other
countries and how best to interact with their cultures. On the other hand we
have fly-by-night wide-boys trying to make a fast buck out of Johnnie
Foreigner. I know who I would think would have the nation’s best interests at
heart.
Mind you the last brain-wave the
Foreign Secretary had was when it said goodbye, so perhaps we were expecting too
much of the fellow?
Just as I got home my car told me
it wanted servicing (don’t we all!)
I took the dogs round the park
for our usual walk. Yesterday it was raining and we met hardly anyone. Today it
was a bright morning, but again we met hardly anyone. In fact the only
difference was that the Jehovah’s Witnesses had their stall out by the park
gates today where they didn’t yesterday. Either jo-bos don’t like the rain, or
God told them to do it. Mind you (to be fair to them) we see them most
mornings; they are kind to the dogs and have never once (in many years)
tried to bother me with their crackpot ideas. Perhaps if they knew what I do
for a living they might have a word or two to say?
For all that we didn’t see many
people, we saw quite a few squirrels. I say “we”; Treacle saw them and
shot off in hot pursuit several times. Fudge didn’t notice any of them.
Some mornings our walk is
eventful. Some mornings our walk is an unmitigated disaster from start to
finish. Today’s was one of the better ones; in fact the only way in which it
could have been better would have been for Treacle not to have crapped on her
own tail as she took a dump.
Once home I washed Treacle’s
tail, then made a few phone calls. I’ve got a rostered day off in a couple of
weeks’ time, and so I arranged for the car to have its service and for Fudge to
have his annual M.O.T. Part of the deal we have with the vet’s is an annual
health check when he has his vaccinations. They usually follow the same format;
the vet (who usually looks as though she should still be in primary school)
will tell me he’s too fat as I struggle to stop him making a bid for freedom as
he is terrified by being there.
I then had a rummage in the shed. I’d remembered
that ages ago I bought a seat box for fishing. That would be ideal to carry
bait round in and would save me having to get a great big bucket. I spent a
little while re-organising my tackle (oo-er!) and sent a photo of my
new-look layout to the first fruit of my loin. I don’t think "My Boy TM"
was impressed, but when I explained (rather
curtly) that I’m *not* going to
spend a small fortune on buying some designer-branded bucket when I’ve already
got a box which will do the job he saw my point of view.
And with my tackle sorted I
mowed the lawn then had a bit of a kip.
I had hoped to sleep for longer,
but the dogs decided to bark at absolutely nothing at all. By the time I’d got
up and shouted at them I was wide awake again so I watched more “Prison
Break” on Netflix. My app seems to have lost its casting icon ever since
its most recent update. I wish people wouldn’t update these things.
As it was starting to get dark
outside I put a Halloween candle in the window to let the Trick or Treaters
know they would be welcome. There are those who look down on the whole “trick
or treat” thing. To those people I would sing “sour puss grumpy face!!”
rather loudly. Realistically trick or treaters are very small children (escorted
by their parents) who (like me) think it great fun to be allowed out
after dark; let alone to go out dressed up.
The first ones arrived shortly
after six o’clock; two small girls wonderfully dressed up and made up with
mothers watching over them from the pavement. The second arrived three quarters
of an hour later – a very small lad with his dad. Two slightly older boys came
(with their mum) at quarter past seven, and that was it.
"er indoors TM" boiled up a
rather good bit of dinner and as we scoffed it we watched last night’s “Bake Off” final. What am I going to watch
for the next year until next year’s “Bake
Off” starts?
