20 February 2019 (Wednesday) - Bit Tired

The night shift was rather busy. I arrived to find the aftermath of a “Red Alert”, and the late shift stayed late because of that. “Red Alerts” are all good fun in “Star Trek” but in reality they are somewhat different. And that rather set the tone for the night. It was rather busy. I was very grateful when the relief showed up.

As I drove home I listened to the radio. There was a lot of talk about Shamima Begum. Having left the UK four years ago to go join Isis, she’s found that Isis wasn’t quite how she’d been lead to believe it would be. She now wants to come back to the UK despite having publicly told the world what a load of crap Great Britain is, and despite knowing that shoving off with a bunch of terrorists was a one-way trip. She now says she wants to come home to the UK because a refugee camp is no place to bring up a child. She’s got a child “Jarrah”… If she seriously wanted to be extradited back to the UK on the strength of her supposed UK citizenship and the child, she might have achieved far more by naming the child “Trevor” or “Dave” or something vaguely British… or am I being ridiculously reactionary in thinking this way?

Once home I was mobbed by dogs. Pogo was wringing wet; he’d been in in the shower with "er indoors TM".
I took the dogs round the park. We were having such a good walk…
Just as I was putting the leads onto Treacle and Pogo as we were about to leave the park, a rather strange looking woman staggered past with her dog. This woman was muttering away to herself; clearly having an argument with the voices in her head. With Pogo and Treacle on their leads I looked round for Fudge only to see this woman trying to kick him. She missed by a mile; it was clear from the way she was staggering that she was either very drunk or on some weird drugs. I should have kept quiet and let it go, but she’d tried to kick my dog. I suggested that she didn’t kick him.
She went absolutely bat-shit mental.
She ranted and raved at me. Her dog is the only decent dog in the world. Every other dog is a bastard. No one understands…
After five minutes of ranting, this woman stormed off, and from a distance of ten yards she started shrieking again. She bellowed that her name was Lisa Wynne, and I could report her to whoever I liked. Sarcastically I asked if she would pose for a photo, and (would you believe it) she did.
As she stormed off into the distance arguing with the voices in her head, passers-by asked me what the little altercation was all about. On reflection I have no idea. Had Fudge gone too close to her dog? Possibly.
It worries me that loonies like this are allowed to roam the streets. “Care in the community”? These poor unfortunates are a danger to themselves and (quite possibly) others too. Her ranting was very reminiscent of the ranting I used to hear from “Nutty Noodle”, our looney next-door neighbour. He often had the emergency psychiatrist out; I suspect he is in a secure hospital somewhere. Perhaps this woman should be in one as well; if only for her own safety?

I went to bed and managed three hours asleep before Fudge woke me by barking at shadows. I nipped up to the corner shop for a sandwich, and with that scoffed I spent the afternoon ironing whilst watching the remaining episodes of “Traitors”.

We spent the evening round at the French Connection where a dozen of us had a rather good meat to celebrate a couple of birthdays. Not a bad way to spend the evening…

I’m feeling a bit tired now...

No comments:

Post a Comment