I didn't feel that good when I got up this morning.
I considered phoning in sick. Instead I made up some salt solution,
syringed out my sinuses, and managed to blast out some rather huge lumps of
scabby yukky gunge.
That perked me up somewhat, as well it
might. I suppose it is only three weeks since my operation... I'm
supposed to do this up till Christmas.
As I scoffed granola and watched an episode of
"Inside No 9" so
Fudge woke, got up from his basket and stood by the living room door.
Rather than sitting with me, he wanted to go sleep on the bed upstairs. As I
got up to see to him, so "er indoors TM" came downstairs and took him upstairs.
I then had my usual rummage round the
Internet; I had been hoping that overnight someone might have claimed the
train pass card that we found yesterday evening. No one had. So much for the
power of the Internet...
I did have a flurry of emails. Four different
groups of people had been out doing my newest Wherigos yesterday. Unlike the
people who visited last weekend, yesterday's visitors were somewhat
more complementary in what they had written. I do like reading a "Found it" long on a
cache of mine that leaves me thinking "that's
nice" rather than one which has me feeling "sorry I bothered".
Sometimes I can be a rather sensitive little
petal...
I set off to Pembury on a rather murky
morning. As I drove to work the pundits on the radio were talking about
how our old friend science has shown that people with arthritis suffer more pain on wet days
than on dry days.
Is this news?
My gran complained that bad weather gave her
gyp fifty years ago.
There was also talk of a possible upcoming general
election. They wheeled on the chairman of the Conservative party onto the
radio. He wouldn't deny that his bunch's election propaganda actually contains
lies about the Labour party. You would have thought that Mr Corbyn had already
dug a big enough hole in which to comprehensively
and permanently bury the Labour party without anyone needing to
make up lies about them, wouldn't you?
I made better time to Pembury today that I did to
Maidstone yesterday. Mainly because I didn't have to contend with the
mayhem on the motorway. And now that the mayhem is at its peak it would seem
that the entire concept of a "smart motorway" is
to be shelved.
About time too... Such a shame that so much money
had to be wasted on it though...
I got to work; I did my bit. Over dinner and tea
breaks I finished my latest e-book. The "A World
Torn Down" series of e-books was something of a
disappointment. The story is set in Humberside after a plague has wiped
out most of the human race. But despite being entitled "A World Torn Down", most (if not all) of the action
takes place within a very small area around the Humber bridge (from the author's website, this would seem to be where
she lives) and this is a shame. The story would have
benefited from the scope that travelling a post apocalyptic UK might have
offered.
The story followed the adventures of various
characters (some believable, some
not so). For some odd reason the most interesting
characters were dropped half-way through, and the
promised sequel threatens to pick up some of the duller ones.
I had a serious issue with one of the major
protagonists who might be best described as a "psycho-bitch-from-hell".
Marching round shooting all and sundry with a crossbow and selling children
into slavery, why were none of the other characters prepared to
actually kill her (which I would certainly
have done)? And if no one is going to do
for "psycho-bitch-from-hell", it is rather implausible that it would never occur to
anyone to relocate well away from "psycho-bitch-from-hell". If there is some bitch-queen marching round with a crossbow
shooting people for sport, would *you* live within walking distance of her for three years (bearing in mind that most of humanity has been wiped
out and you can go wherever you like?)
I didn't really like this story. What really hacked
me off was that the story was broken up into six books. Was this to extort
more money from the readers? Together
they made one book of seven hundred pages, but having
to make six purchases it cost eleven quid.
I've just taken pot luck and bought an e-book
that came up on my Facebook feed. Five hundred pages for one pound ninety-nine
pence.
As I finished that rather turgid book I scoffed a
chocolate brownie. A colleague had made cake. I like cake. The rest of the
day was rather dull after cake…
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