As I looked at Facebook (over
brekkie) this morning several people were posting their reasons for their
choices in today’s European elections. One or two of the people posting seemed
to understand what they were voting for; most didn’t. Why on Earth would
someone who retired early on the grounds of ill health (and whose social
media posts mostly emanate from a hospital bed) vote for the candidate who
advocates doing away with free health care for all. Didn’t they realise that?
Looking at the choices for the
European elections we got to choose between:
·
Those who’ve currently ballsed it all up
·
Those who’ve historically ballsed it all up
·
Those who would say shit was sugar for the chance
to balls it all up
·
Tree huggers
·
A bunch of commies
·
The official party of sending them all back on the
next banana boat
·
Those with no plans at all other than that they
hate foreigners
·
Some bunch who like the EU, but no one’s ever heard
of them
·
Well-intentioned do-goodery.
My heart said to vote for the
tree huggers, but my head realised that many of them hadn’t looked at
themselves in the mirror. Call me old-fashioned if you will, but first
impressions count. You cannot take anyone seriously if your first impression is
“WTF do you look like”.
I looked at my emails. I was
told there was a problem with one of the Wherigos that I set four years ago.
Despite the thing working fine in testing, and sixty people since successfully
getting on with it, because one chap couldn’t do it, it must have some glitches.
I sighed, got dressed and took
the dogs out.
We had a surprisingly good walk
round the park. We played nicely with the other dogs. Three of us porked a
passing Pug (poor Oscar). Mind you I did get a little frustrated with
Fudge. He’d been walking round at the pace of an asthmatic snail (who was
feeling a bit tired) when Pogo and Treacle shot off at full speed in
pursuit of a squirrel. I looked for Fudge to see him going even faster, but
going back the way we’d just come.
As we walked we were befriended
by a young mother. She seemed rather taken by the dogs, and she seemed
incredibly lonely. We chatted for a few minutes; I got the impression she would
have talked all day long. It never fails to amaze me now many lonely people
there are in such large towns.
We came home past the voting
station where I finally cast my “X” for the party which (on
reflection) I thought would do the least harm.
As I drove
off towards Pembury, "Women's Hour" was on the radio. Today
they were talking about women who have become successful graphic novel authors.
The woman conducting the interview was rather angry at how few women write
graphic novels, and how It is a male-dominated field. The (woman) author
being interviewed caused consternation by saying that there are as many women
as men writing graphic novels.
Graphic
novels... I can feel my piss boiling.
Have you ever
read "graphic novel". Once upon a time we had novels and
comics. Nowadays people look at the
pictures of a comic book, call it a "graphic novel", and
pretend that they are reading classic literature up there with Tolstoy and
Dickens.
Don't get me
wrong - I like a comic book. I've always been a fan of "Batman"
and "Superman" comics. But they are comics, and calling them
novels changes nothing.
I had a
relatively easy drive to work. Finding myself at Pembury half an hour earlier
than I expected meant I had time on my hands. So I looked at the geo-map and
had a little walk into the woods to find a sandwich box stashed by a holly
bush.
I got in to
work; I went to the canteen. I had a rather good lunch od spicy chicken and
chips which I followed up with pudding and custard. And, pausing only briefly
to laugh at an irate cleaner, I got on with another late shift. As late shifts
go it wasn't bad. It was far better than the alternative - I was originally
scheduled to be working the night shift today, but earlier in the week a colleague
had asked if he could work my night shift today. I was quite happy to get out
of the night work.
It did make for another late
finish though…
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