I had a rather good night’s sleep last
night. It would have been better if I hadn’t been laying awake for the last
hour in desperate need of the loo, but in retrospect I should have got up and
gone for a tiddle, shouldn’t I? (It ain’t
rocket science, is it?)
As I scoffed my toast I looked at
Facebook as I do. The “Save our NHS Kent”
brigade were up in arms about closures
to stroke units in Kent. They’ve been up in arms about all sorts of
things recently. What they seem to overlook is that a lot of these closures
aren’t about saving money, they are about practicality. How *can* the local authorities keep a stroke
unit open when there isn’t enough staff to run the place, and no one applies to
adverts for the jobs? Here’s a suggestion for keeping the local stroke units
open. Those who are complaining should shut their rattle and study (for many years) to post-graduate level
and then fill the seemingly un-fillable vacancies themselves.
But to lighten the mood a friend had
posted a video she’d taken in her hotel room. She was listening to the people
in the next room who were doing noisy sex. I did laugh,
I took the dogs round the park for a
walk. As we went through Bowen’s Field we saw the council had installed new
rubbish bins. They were emblazoned with what seems to be the new corporate logo
“KAC”. Apparently this stands for “Keep Ashford Clean”. I thought it was a
mis-spelling and I would have put Fudge’s cack in there had Pogo not
eaten it first.
As we walked round the park and the dogs
played I thought something was up with Pogo. He was moving very awkwardly. And
then I realised what was going on. He’s learned how to run in a sitting
position so that Treacle can’t bite his ankles.
We came home through the co-op field and
past the allotments which again reeked of “funny
fags”.
Just as I got home my phone rang. It was
an automated call from the power company asking what I thought of how they
dealt with my query yesterday. Bearing in mind they haven’t dealt with it at
all I hung up. I’ve been told (from
various sources) that if you rate companies badly on these customer
satisfaction thingies, all they do is have a go at the poor person with whom
you spoke and *not* with anyone who
might be able to help you.
I settled the dogs. I say that most
mornings when I'm on a late shift. In the mornings they don't need much
settling. In the evenings I only have to walk in the general direction of the
kitchen and they all go mad. In the mornings I pick up the dog treat box and
all three just lay where they are laying and not one moves. This morning was a
typical example of this. I went to their treat box. Three pairs of eyes watched
from the comfort of the sofas. Not one got up, or even stirred. I offered each
dog a treat. Each lifted their head for me to put the treat into their mouth,
and then chomped the treat whilst laying down. Clearly any more action on their
part would be just too much like hard work.
As I drove this morning "Women's Hour" was on the radio. It
would seem that young women barristers are leaving the profession in
droves when they have children. Children are expensive things (apparently). There were one or two
ex-barristers being interviewed who were whinging on about the cost of child
care. It struck me that if a barrister couldn't afford child care then what
hope was there for us mere mortals?
I drove to Chatham. I'd set myself
a little geo-mission today in the Medway towns. First of all I had to find a
plaque from which I had to get some information, I then had to answer
some questions to get some numbers, do some sums, and then go get a geocache.
The sat-nav struggled getting me to the
plaque. I eventually answered the questions, I did some sums and came up with
what I thought might be plausible co-ordinates. I drove for a mile to find that
they weren't. The location I'd come up with was in someone's back garden. I
checked my sums, found my mistake, drove another mile in another direction
and found myself in a residential street. I say "residential street" - it was realistically the sort of place
where the council puts the scratters so that they can fight amongst themselves.
There were several domestics kicking off as I walked up and down the
road. Finding nothing remotely resembling the clues I'd been given I gave
up, and told my sat-nat to aim for work.
Easier said than done.
I don't doubt that there are many people
who can drive round the Medway towns. I find it hard work. It is all up hill
and down hill, all narrow streets and sharp corners, cars parked in the most
stupid places, and every driver clearly thinks they are the only person on the
roads. I was rather glad when I got on to Bluebell hill and got out of the
place.
I got to work rather later than
planned, but still there was time for dinner. Being Friday a plate of
fish and chips went down rather well. I went in to work, and did the late
shift. It wasn't a bad shift - I've had worse.
Once home we watched the last episode of
the current season of “Hunted”. It
would seem the controversial ending has upset
quite a few viewers.
Mind you I think I’d like to be in the
next season…
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