After a really busy day yesterday I slept like a log last night; finally emerging from my pit just before nine o’clock. I made toast and had a look at the Internet. It was still there. Quite a lot of people had said good things about yesterday’s geocaching meeting which was pleasing. Bearing in mind I’d been let down with only two days to go, Singleton Barn did us proud yesterday.
I also saw that “Margaret Tello” was still active on Facebook. “Margaret Tello” had sent me a friend request on Facebook last night. She appears to be a young lady with more tits than sense and was exhorting me to join a Whatsapp group in which “hot women” would do the dirty deed without wanting to be paid. I squealed her up to the Facebook feds, but as we know only too well, offering free filth on-line doesn’t breach Facebook’s community standards.
As another negative COVID test incubated I scoffed hot cross buns and wrote up some CPD. A year or so ago a colleague said she’d like to start writing up a CPD blog of her own. The most difficult bit was getting started, and now she’s writing quite a bit on her blog. She doesn’t write quite as much as I do but I think it fair to say that what she does write is of *far* better quality than what I do, and so I have no hesitation in shamelessly blagging her work.
Leaving “er indoors TM” getting jiggy with the hoover I took the dogs round to the co-op field where we walked round once, taking care not to get involved with the game of football that was going on. We got muddy enough walking round once; they were playing football in a swamp.
We came home and had a bath (well, those of us covered in mud did).
The dogs soon settled, and pausing only briefly to collect Nick’s coat from Singleton Barn, “er indoors TM” drove us down to Folkestone where “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” had excelled herself making Sunday dinner for the family. Eleven of us sat down and scoffed a very good dinner. It was good for us all to meet up, and we had a really good bit of dinner… probably far too much.
“My Boy TM” left a few minutes before us, and just as we were about to leave Folkestone the phone rang. He was stuck in a traffic jam on the motorway; could we go get Lacey from her work? Avoiding the blocked motorway we got to within a few hundred yards of collecting her when we met a “Road Closed” sign. We didn’t have to go too many miles to get to where we needed to be.
And with Lacey safely delivered home I then spent the evening fast asleep on the sofa clutching a very stuffed stomach…
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