I
slept well; now that Pogo has gone back to where he lives I don’t spend all
night with an air of waiting for a fight to kick off any more. Not that Pogo
was to blame; Treacle was (is) the pugnacious one but she seems to kick
off at Fudge far less than she used to have a go at her brother.
It
was a shame that the bin men had to be quite so noisy quite so early.
As
I scoffed my toast I had a look at Facebook. There is a page I follow about all
the local crimes and
villainy.
It was posting about how the police’s counter terrorism unit had been raiding
some house not five miles away. Everyone was up in arms whinging about what a
terrible place Ashford has become. It strikes me that this page is full of doom
and gloom and horror stories, but I have never seen any of the things they
claim are happening on a daily basis. I’ve never had gangs of Kosovans on the
doorstep demanding money. I’ve never had gypsies in the shed trying to steal
the lawn mower. I’ve never felt the need to make the public aware of the danger
of two teenagers sitting on a park bench. Whilst there might be some truth in
some of the stories, I honestly feel that much of it is made up nonsense.
Interestingly
this Facebook page has recently acquired a rival. I’ve joined the rival
page out of interest. This new group is all about “freedom off speech”
and it has only one rule: “please be polite other member's”.
Equally
literate, I then had a notification of a new
geocache.
I read the description with interest. Apparently this one is “tided to the
tree”.
And
they say education is alive and well….
(This
isn’t having a go at dyslexia. This is having a go at people being too lazy to
take a few seconds to pause and re-read what they have written!)
I took the dogs round the
park. We’ve not been round the park much lately, and today proved exactly why
I’d rather go elsewhere. Orlestone Woods and Kings Wood don’t have many people
there, and those who are there seem to understand dogs. Viccie Park seems to be
attracting those with “furry precious princesses”. I lost count of the number of other dog walkers who shrieked in
terror when Fudge wandered over to see their dog.
Mind you we made the most
of our walk. And despite chronic kidney failure, Fudge showed the squirrels who
was boss. One idiot squirrel jumped out of a tree not two feet in front of
Treacle. Treacle and squirrel stared at each other; Fudge leapt into action. He
very nearly caught it.
We came home. I spent a few
minutes looking at the geocaching adventure lab thingy that I’ve been awarded.
I’d like to be able to do something fun with it, but it doesn’t seem to lend
itself to the sort of nonsense I like to do with Wherigos. The chap who put out
the series in Hastings had a really good idea with the more obscure blue
plaques. There’s a good tour in London of “Jack the Ripper” sites, but there isn’t a lot I can do locally.
I’m really not that keen on ending up with a tour round the “Museum of Dull Bits of
Broken Pots” which
(unfortunately) so many of these Adventure caches seem to
be.
I had a look round the
Internet seeing what historical stuff I could find out about Ashford that
wasn’t incredibly dull. I’m probably going to end up doing some history tour
involving the old jail (that no one knows about), the house with a fake top floor (that no one knows about), the tank (that everyone knows about) and two other things which I will probably make
up. I’ve got to pop into town on Monday to see the optician. I shall have a
look then.
With the dogs asleep I set
off to work. With a few minutes to spare I drove to Sainsburys
to get some petrol. Just as I was about to pull up at the pump I had to slam on
the brakes as some selfish prat flew past the queue, flew past the cars at the
pumps, and straight to the pump from which I was only a few feet. Having
slammed on the brakes I filled my car with petrol at the pump at which I found
myself. Ironically I had filled my car and was in the queue in the kiosk
before Mr Speedy. As he joined the queue I suggested that he might like to
barge to the front. Several people who were queuing chuckled. Mr Speedy
pretended not to hear me.
As I paid for my petrol I also got a sandwich;
again I'd forgotten to make myself one before leaving home. I've done that
twice this week.
I drove in to work, I parked up. As I got out of my
car I nearly broke my neck as I fell over on a conker which was laying on the
ground. Conkers on the ground - there's a sign of our times. Back in the day
conkers were stripped from trees long before they would fall naturally my
children who would play "conkers". Do kids put them on strings
and clout each other over the knuckles any more?
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