Having seen every hour of
the night I gave up trying to sleep. Over a bowl of granola I watched more “Nightflyers” which kept me amused for forty minutes,
then I peered into the Internet. Some petty rants I read last night had
continued.
People were complaining
about how poorly supported the local cinema is, and were afraid it might close
if people don’t start using it. I *think* the
last time I went to the cinema was in February 2018 when my seat cost me over a
tenner. I had to sit through half an hour of adverts and put up with the Great Unwashed burping and farting all the way through the
film. For the same money (actually slightly less) I can (and
do) get a month’s worth of
Netflix, and for the price of "er indoors TM"’s ticket we get
a month’s worth of Amazon Prime on the telly. Would losing the cinema be such a
loss? I don’t really think so.
One friend was banging on
about how hard up she was. Having come back from a two-month tour of Europe
she’s now complaining that she’s so hard up some friend of hers has had to pay
the next two terms of her daughter’s school fees (about twelve thousand pounds). Personally I know I will never afford a
two-month tour of Europe, and it was my experience that state-run schools were
free.
I put on my new shirt and
new trousers and (leaving "er indoors TM"
and the dogs asleep) set off towards work through another murky morning. As I peered through the torrential
rain the pundits on the radio were talking about the Prime Minister's
appearance in Parliament yesterday. Having had the worst slating imaginable from
the supreme court he was unrepentant and insulting.
There was also talk of the Duke of Cambridge
officiating at the official naming ceremony of the Royal Research Ship "Sir David Attenborough". There
had been a public vote to name the ship. The winning suggestion, “Boaty McBoatface" wasn't used
for the simple reason that it was a silly idea. No one's quibbled about this *because* it was a silly idea.
You might think the same reasoning might be applied
to Brexit and the Prime Minister...
I spent much of the day
worrying about Fudge. He’d been allowed none of our dinner last night (and he loves fish). He’d been allowed nothing to eat or drink
this morning. "er
indoors TM"
had left him with the vet at nine o’clock this morning. Today was ultrasound
day. Having established that his kidneys aren’t right, it was time to have a
look at them.
We were expecting to pick
him up sometime in the late afternoon; we had a phone call at ten o’clock. All was
done and could we collect him as he was being rather shouty and disruptive.
The ultrasound had showed
nothing structurally wrong with the kidneys; no growths or stones. So far all
the signs seem to be pointing to chronic kidney disease. The vets have directed
us to the website of the International
Renal interest Society and want to see him again in two weeks’ time. In the
meantime, we’ll look at getting food which is low in phosphorus, protein, and
sodium. And cheese is out (he won’t like that). The vet has advised some food to get. It ain’t cheap, and I bet he
won’t like it.
I came home from work to an
empty house. "er
indoors TM"
had taken the dogs to the park. Treacle had been her usual self; the one who is
supposedly oh-so-poorly had chased squirrels and then porked several other
dogs.
When they came home he charged
into the house like a whirlwind, wolfed his dinner and then destroyed both his
and Treacle’s new toys. Other than a shaved patch on his side, you wouldn’t
think there was anything amiss.
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