I slept well, but woke feeling like death warmed up. Realising that I could either lay in bed and sulk, or get on with it, I got on with it.
I made toast, and had a look at the Internet. I roll my eyes at an advert on Facebook for “Vegan Fried Chicken” that had appeared on my Facebook feed. I hadn’t asked for their advert and neither had thousands of other people, and the owners of “VFC” (as they called themselves) were getting increasingly rude and abusive with everyone and anyone who commented on the unwanted advert. I can never understand why vegans make the claim that their food substitutes taste just like the real thing when it simply doesn’t. On what basis do they make these claims? Do they actually eat the meat-based stuff to compare?
It turned out that I’d been presented with the thing on my Facebook feed as the Facebook feds had randomly added “veganism” to my list of interests. They allowed me to remove “veganism” from that list, but it wouldn’t let me see the list. I’m sure there are a lot of things on that list I’d like to remove.
I had an email from the nice people at Credit Karma telling me that my credit sore had gone up eleven points this week. That reminded my that I’ve still not heard back from the bank about why they are disclosing confidential information about my finances to the likes of the nice people at Credit Karma. I’ve been told this happens all the time, but this is akin to my telling the nosey neighbour why someone-or-other was in the hospital out-patients department the other day.
I took the dogs for a little walk round the park, and again reminded myself why I don’t like walking there. This morning the place was full of what I can only describe as “precious princesses”; dogs whose owners shrieked in terror at the sight of Pogo just ambling along the path. And there were quite a few middle-aged Nepalese women who were… jogging? They were going faster than walking pace, slower than running pace, and their awkward gait made each one look as though they had just shat themselves.
It was something of a relief to get home.
I came home to hear the boiler doing its thing… at half past nine? I had a look at the timer, and the timer was twelve hours out. It thought it was half past nine in the evening. I put that right, then as the dogs snored I wrote up more CPD. That CPD blog has a life of its own it has been viewed over two hundred times in the last week, and (it has to be said) it is dull in the extreme.
It was a shame that the dogs had to bark at the postman just as I was getting ready for work, but they soon settled again.
I popped into the corner shop this morning to get lunch and the peanut butter I'd forgotten yesterday. That saved twenty minutes fighting in Tesco. I then called in at two car dealerships doing a little more car research. The Nissan Qashqai (which “My Boy TM” reckons) has a boot which is far too high for the dogs to jump into, and the Skoda whatever-it-was (that the boss reckoned) had a lower boot but looked like the van that my Dad used to drive for the gas board in the 1970s.
With two more cars added to the "no thank you" list I headed off westwards to Pembury, singing along to my strange choice of music as I went.
Work was much the same as ever... these days that means "rather good". Only five short years ago that was very different. We had cake today, but having woken feeling grim, I stayed feeling grim for most (all) of the day. Not even cake could shift that.
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