As I drove home after a rather
busy night shift I found myself listening to the radio in a sense of disbelief.
With Mrs May surely poised to go down in history as one of the worst Prime
Ministers that the country has ever had (and that is up against some pretty
stiff competition), the pundits on the radio were all a-twitter that the
Leader of the Opposition allegedly called her a “stupid woman”.
He says he didn’t.
What with all the problems the
nation faces it speaks volumes that this is headline news. How ironic that the
nation should have (possibly) its most useless Prime Minister at *exactly*
the same time as it has its (apparently) most incompetent Leader of the
Opposition. No matter how much of a stuff-up Mrs May makes of Brexit (and
consequently the country), the vast majority of people would still prefer
her over Mr Corbyn.
Is he really as bad as he is
painted? I doubt it, but he’s made quite a reputation for himself. Sometimes I
wonder if him and his deputy Diane Abbott are actually secret agents for the
Conservative party whose mission is to make the Labour party unelectable. It
pains me that they are doing a *very* good job of it.
There was also talk on the radio
that the House of Commons is now packing up for its Christmas break. That’s
nice for them. I understand quite a few people are also starting their
Christmas holidays now. Good for them. I must admit to a twinge of jealousy.
But only a twinge.
I get quite a bit of stick about
the hours I work (or don’t work). Most of it is good natured; some
isn’t. There’s no denying that I seem to have a *lot* of free time
during the year. Like today. Quite often I am off on jollies and pub crawls and
walks and stuff in my rostered time off when everyone else is taking a day’s
holiday.
However the flip side of that is
this time of year.
I *seem* to have a lot of
time off because I work the same amount of hours as everyone else, but I work
them in a place that never closes. Where everyone else does their work-time
nine-to five on Mondays to Fridays (and Bank Holidays off), my working
hours can be any time of night or day, any day of the year. Whilst everyone
else is now breaking up for the Christmas holidays and firms are closing for up
to a two-week break, I’m not. This year I shall be at work until nine o’clock
on Christmas Eve. Mind you this year I’m off on both Christmas Day and Boxing
Day which is something of a result. I’ve worked three of the last four
Christmas Days.
I came home to three rather
excited dogs. The torrential rain had finally stopped, and it was a bright
morning. I took the wolf-pack for a little walk. We did our usual circuit in
reverse.
The co-op field was a swamp, and
the area in the park below the Chinese garden was under quite a bit of water.
Chest-deep on Pogo. I made a
little video of them playing in the flood.
Having pinched another dog’s
tennis ball, Pogo then played nicely with a little Jack Russell we meet from
time to time. This little dog is a timid hound; having been attacked by a large
Alsatian he is usually a bag of nerves. It was good to see him playing nicely
with Pogo (of all dogs). It was such a shame that Pogo had to then pick
a fight with a passing Collie.
We came home; "er
indoors TM"
had left me orders to unblock the dishwasher. The hose to the drain was rather
badly clogged with what looked like dog hairs.
With dishwasher unblocked I had a scrub, and managed two
hours asleep in bed before Fudge declared “Red
Alert”; the postman had the audacity to deliver some letters.
I got up to see what he had delivered. There was a letter
from the GP about my referral to the ENT people. The GP had sent me login
details so I could book my own appointment on-line. He *could* probably have given me those when I saw him two weeks ago.
I logged on; the website banged on about how important it
was that I had a choice of to where I could be referred. I had a choice of one
hospital. The website also said that the average wait for an appointment was
eight days, and then didn’t offer me anything earlier than March. Once I’d
booked it all it asked if I’d like to take part in a customer satisfaction
survey. I did so, told them how crap it all was, and was asked if I’d like to
join some on-line community of what looks like whingers and troublemakers. I
said I’d give it a go; looks like I would be at home there.
Postie had also delivered the invoice for the boiler service that was done the other week. I paid
that on-line, then told the world about my sixth choice of book for the book
challenge.
“Three Men in a Boat”
is a classic. Everyone has heard of it; I doubt one person in a thousand has
read it. I first read it over thirty years ago. I still laugh out loud at parts
of it. Despite being written in an age before mobile phones and the Internet (twenty-five
years before the First World War), people then were just the same as people
now. If anyone takes up only one of my book choices, this would be the one to
go for.
I emptied the washing machine,
hung out laundry round the radiators and put another load in; if only to check
the drain wasn’t leaking from where I’d had it all apart earlier. I then made
myself a cuppa and had a mince pie with it. "er indoors TM" had left orders
that I was to eat them. One box of mince pies is for visitors and for show. The
other one (the one that Treacle has had)
is for me to get scoffed as quickly as possible.
I did have all sorts of stuff I
could have done, but two night shifts had done for me so I slobbed in front of
the telly watching episodes of “Prison Break” until "er indoors TM" came home. We
had a rather good bit of dinner and a bottle of plonk. Not too shabby…
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