The original
plan for today was that I would be working an early shift. And consequently
would be getting up at about six o’clock. Bearing in mind last night’s little
drinkie with old muckers it was as well that I’d been asked to swap into the
late shift today.
After a
rather restless night I came downstairs about two hours after the early shift
would have started. Over brekkie I looked at the Internet to see if it had
changed much since yesterday. Some friends were having birthdays. I posted my
birthday video to those whose settings would allow me to do so. And didn’t to
those whose settings wouldn’t let me.
For once some
people had posted photos of what they had been doing yesterday. I like being
nosey, and I like seeing what other people have been up to. It would seem that
whilst I was scoffing myself silly with friends yesterday evening I missed a
rather good geo-meet.
More lies
about Brexit were being circulated; this time by the remain brigade. There was
a meme being circulated which claimed that UK trade with the EU countries last
year was worth more than the UK’s trade with the USA, China, Japan, Australia,
Mars, and even Cloud Cuckoo Land all put together. It didn’t take more than ten
seconds on Google to see that the first figure quoted in the meme was actually
wrong.
I checked my
emails. I’d been awarded a geo-souvenir because of all the
favourite points my new geo-series had accumulated. I was pleased about that.
I’ve got all of the latest batch of geo-souvenirs now.
Treacle then came downstairs
hotly pursued by "er indoors TM". She (Treacle, not "er indoors TM") had stolen a sock or
some pants or something (I wasn’t really
paying attention) and had run off with it. That dog is as good as gold with
me, but the moment "er indoors TM" turns up she
makes a point of running off with stuff for dramatic effect.
"er indoors TM" then boiled up
some hot cross buns. Salted caramel flavour. Have you ever had salted caramel
flavour? It works for ice cream, but for hot cross buns – I’m not so sure.
With brekkie
scoffed we took the dogs out to Brook for a little walk. There was a geocache
there that neither of us had found. To locate it you had to find a number from
a post box, do some sums, and then walk a short distance to the final hiding
place. I found the number on the post box, I used the degree I have in
mathematics (I actually have one!) to work out the longitude and
latitude. I plugged these numbers into the geo-app on my phone, and found that
what I'd worked out was about ten miles away. I rechecked my sums, and on
realising that three times three is not four I soon had a location within a
couple of hundred yards.
The cache had
been hidden in what looked to be a private petting zoo; the dogs got very
excited at the sight of the chickens and sheep. Luckily I saw the film pot we
sought laying on the ground from ten yards away, so we didn't have to hang
about.
We then
popped up the road to the church. "er indoors TM" owns the geocache at that church, and there
had been reports that the thing needed a tad of maintenance doing.
Geo-maintenance
is something that winds me up. There are two types of hunters of Tupperware;
those that log that caches need maintenance, and those that just do the
maintenance anyway. Most requests for maintenance are because the paper logs
are full and need replacing. How hard is
it to carry a sheet of A4 paper (sliced into strips) and pop in a strip
when needed?
Some requests
for maintenance are because caches are broken. However most caches are little
plastic pots; you can get them (three for a quid) from the pound shop. Is it
*really* unreasonable to carry a few of these with you and put one out if
needed?
Having said
that, there are those that delight in charging out to do their own maintenance.
(And for all that it is the easiest thing in the world to carry spares, I
often forget to do so myself).
Each to their
own , I suppose.
We found "er
indoors TM"
's cache. It wasn't in pristine
condition, but it wasn't *that* bad. We replaced it, quarrelled with a
passing Labrador, and came home again. If nothing else it was a walk for the
dogs.
Once home I
swapped out of my boots, and leaving "er indoors TM" to attack the laundry I set off to work. The
pundits on the radio were broadcasting something about the role of the
resistance fighters in the last great war. I listened for a bit, but my
attention wasn't on it, so I turned to my dreadful taste in music instead. As I
drove up the motorway I became conscious that nothing was coming in the
opposite direction. After a while I saw why. A car had broken down, and the pick-up
truck sent to fetch it was taking up both lanes. As I drove past this I could
see that traffic was stacked up for miles behind this broken-down car.
With what was
once a three-lane motorway reduced to a two-lane dual carriageway, this "Operation Brock"
isn't the rip-roaring success that the government would have us believe that it
is.
I got to work
and went to the canteen. It was far quieter (being a Sunday) that usual.
I demolished a plate of chicken and chips, and followed it with chocolate and
orange pudding with custard.
Very tasty.
Feeling
rather full I got on with the work. During a lull in proceedings I wrote up some CPD. It's dull,
but it needs doing.
As I worked I
looked out of the window at the rain. I’d rather not work at the weekend, but I
don’t mind *that* much if it’s wet…
No comments:
Post a Comment