As I drove home after one of the busier night shifts the pundits on the radio were talking about how English law is changing. Stealing a dog is now a criminal offence. As it should be.
I came home and went to bed where I slept for an hour or so until the dogs went berserk. My next batch of COVID tests had been delivered and the dogs certainly let me know. As I tried to get back to sleep so they kicked off again at the postman delivering some letters. I was wide awake by then so gave up and made some toast.
As I scoffed it I peered into the Internet. A friend had shared (on Facebook) the album of photos I’d taken when we went out to see the sea forts. Was that really three years ago today? How time flies. We had such a good day going out to log finds on two geocaches out at the sea forts in the Thames estuary. But one of the things which sticks in my mind over that outing was the people who didn’t go. There were twelve spaces on the boat trip that I organised. I knew that if I did my usual trick of asking the world and his wife then the outing would be massively over-subscribed, so the trip was by invitation only. But word of the trip spread (as it does). Before we went out I had no end of messages from people I didn’t know who told me that they were coming and wanted to know who they should pay. After the event I had loads of messages from people who hadn’t seen the trip advertised and told me how I should have organised the advertising. I was asked (a few times) why I thought that it was up to me to decide who went and who didn’t. I gave all of these the same reply. I gave them the details of the boat on which we sailed and told them that they too could charter the boat and organise their own trip.
Looking at the logs on the geocaches we went to, not one of those people has done so…
There wasn’t a lot else happening in cyber-space so I set the dishwasher going and took the dogs out.
We went to Orlestone woods again and arrived to find an empty car park. We started our walk, and after five minutes Pogo suddenly started barking. I couldn’t work out what had upset him, but after a couple of minutes I saw there was some odd-looking chap lurking in the undergrowth. I called out a cheery “hello” and got glared at before the chap carried on with what he was doing. He was photographing something low-down that I couldn’t see. Was it a strange orchid, unusual insects, or a nudey lady without any clothes on? We’ve seen people photographing all of those there before.
With walk walked we came home and I got the ironing board out and ironed like a thing possessed whilst binge-watching episodes of “Privates”; a TV show from the BBC set in 1960 which follows the antics of eight privates who are part of the last intake of National Service. I thought it was a new thing; it was eight years old and starred him out of “The Office”. It took me two hours to realise it was him out of The Office” and not him out of “Waiting for God”.
“er indoors TM” boiled up a very good bit of dinner which we scoffed whist watching more episodes of “House of Games” without falling asleep. Not falling asleep was rather amazing after a night shift and only an hour asleep.
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