I woke up full of beans and raring to go only to find it
was eleven minutes past one. I then dozed intermittently for four hours. I didn’t
have toast for brekkie as I couldn’t find any margarine to stick in it; I
considered going to ask "er indoors TM" what she
had done with it, but I thought she might not be overly approachable at half
past five.
Mind you I found some raisin and almond granola in the
cupboard. No full fat milk, but it’ll do. If only can get more than four
servings out of the packet I might be on to something.
As I scoffed the granola I
watched this week’s episode of “The Good Place” which was rather good.
After a couple of rather lame episodes the show has perked up. I would have
liked to have watched more, but Netflix are doing this “normal telly” thing
where they are only releasing one episode per week. I wish they’d put out the
entire season.
As it was far too early for
anyone to have put anything at all onto Facebook I set off to work.
It was dark
when I left home. Again the street lighting failed to illuminate anything. The
roads were quiet as I drove to Pembury, as well you would expect before seven
o'clock on a Sunday morning. Being a Sunday the talk on the radio was all of a
religious nature. There was talk of the ex-catholic bishop of Birmingham being
complicit in a cover-up. It was alleged that the son of author JRR Tolkien was
a priest who'd used
his position to abuse children, and that the bishop knew of this and
tried to hush it all up.
Did the son
of "Lord of the Rings" author take advantage of children? Did
the bishop know about it? I don't know. I'm not trying to defend or accuse
either of them, but we have a (sort-of) celebrity who has been safely
dead for fifteen years being accused of all sorts of stuff that happened sixty
years ago. How can anyone really have any sort of accurate and reliable memory
of what happened so many years ago? I've said before (many times) that
if I could find anyone still alive who was in the pantomimes at the White Rock
Pavilion in Hastings in the late 1960s I will accuse them of doing all sorts of
things to a rather small me. At this remove in history they would be utterly
unable to provide any sort of plausible defence or alibi and would settle out
of court to avoid the scandal.
The pundits
also wheeled on some woman who was rattling on about the ethics and morals of
journalism. Apparently a paid journalist working for a national newspaper can
rant and take the moral high ground on a range of subjects whilst clearly and
demonstrably talking out of their arse. Why? - because there is some ineffable
quality about being a paid journalist working for a national newspaper which
gives them a God-given right to do so. Apparently. However (so this woman
said) one of the many ills of today's society is the upsurge of opinionated
nobodies on the Internet writing daily blogs in which they make uneducated and
ignorant make comments on things they clearly don't understand…
That's me
told, then...
I got to
Pembury in the shortest time I have ever done so. It took less than an hour -
apart from red traffic lights I didn't actually stop once. Unheard of!
Once at work
I made a bee-line for the canteen. They do a rather good cooked brekkie, you
know. A plate of sausages, bacon, beans, mushrooms and hash brown set me up for
the day; it was two hours after my first brekkie, after all.
I went into action
and had a rather busy day. I sulked a little as I worked; it was a bright day
outside, and today was my brother’s annual extended family get-together. It
would have been good to have got along. "er indoors TM" told me it was a
rather good session.
"er indoors TM" boiled up a rather
good lasagne this evening which we washed down with a bottle of “Dark Horse” Cabernet Sauvignon (posh red wine) while watching the last
episode of the current season of “Doctor
Who”. This episode wasn’t bad, but (in
all honesty) it didn’t really have much with which to compete. Which is a
shame.
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