I slept in until nine o’clock again, which was a result. I got up, and as I emptied the sink as I shaved, rather than draining away never to be seen again, all the water came up the bath’s plug hole.
Oh dear.
I made toast and sparked up my lap-top which seemed far more keen on doing stuff today than it had been yesterday. There was a photo on one of the local Facebook pages that made me think. It was a photo of the chap who used to organise the Ashford carnivals (years ago) standing in front of the float which used to carry “Miss Ashford” in the procession. That procession used to come up our road and past our house; sadly I can remember “Miss Ashford” having to be behind a screen of chicken wire because local thugs used catapults to fire pennies at the girls. There hasn’t been an Ashford carnival for years… purely because no one could be bothered to organise one. Having been involved in this sort of thing in the past, I’m certainly not volunteering(!)
There was consternation being expressed over the admission that the government is not keeping any formal record of the ongoing freight delays at Dover. Of course they aren’t. You don’t generate evidence showing that your policy didn’t work, do you?
And a
friend was grumbling about her bad neighbours… I couldn’t help but think about not-so-nice-next-door
and the fun we’ve had over the years. Over twenty years ago I
offended him in the way I brought up my children, in the way I mowed my lawn,
by having friends visit, by having builders work inside *my* house
without his permission, by being liked by other neighbours… Among other
craziness he formally accused me of murdering his first wife who had died ten
years before I ever met him.
After a lot of nastiness (involving the police and solicitors) I
was eventually told that it was agreed that I should agree to everything he
demanded because not doing so offended him, and a policeman formally cautioned
me that I would be arrested if he took offence again.
Years later… he’s not been seen for ages, but she’s still
there. However it would seem that being civil causes her physical pain. I tried
to be pleasant to her last year; she didn’t actually say “f… off fatso”
but I could tell that was what she was thinking.
I see
the recent storms have damaged the roof of her house. I wonder if she has
noticed? I really should tell her, but I suspect if I do so she really will
think that I did it.
With the lap-top telling me that rain was on the way I went into the garden to have a look at the drains. They didn’t seem blocked; all seemed fine. I filled the bath with water; that drained away without problem. I flushed the loo; that too drained away quickly.
I wonder what the issue with the sink this morning was all about.
Feeling spots of rain I closed up the drain and quickly zoomed round the garden gathering turds. With only one dog currently in residence there is a lot less dung… but more than you might expect.
I had planned a quiet hour to myself for the last part of the morning, but “er indoors TM” was getting fractious. She’d bought a lap-top for “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” to use whilst she was working, but her contract came to an end when the government abandoned all COVID restrictions and so the lap-top was spare. “er indoors TM” had this idea to replace her (frankly knackered) old lap-top with the new one, but the new one is in “S” mode. I didn’t know that lap-tops can have “S” mode (not “safe” mode; “S” mode). When a lap-top enters “S”-mode it becomes utterly useless and unable to do absolutely anything at all, Whilst coming out of “S”- mode is apparently an irreversible thing to do, it isn’t easy to do. You can get quite stressy trying to do it.
Whist lap-tops flatly refused to leave “S” mode I spent a few minutes rummaging round a Klingon spaceship in “Star Trek: Elite Force” before it was time to go to work.
I set off through the rain to work, listening to "Just A Minute" on the radio as I drove. Sue Perkins was doing her best to fill the huge gap left by Nicholas Parsons (who died over two years ago!), but despite the able assistance of Stephen Fry and Paul Merton, the show lacked something. It wasn't so much entertainment as listening to other people enjoying themselves. A subtle distinction, maybe, but the contestants on the show weren't really funny; I would best describe them as being self-satisfied and perhaps even smug. I can't help but wonder if after fifty years the show has run its course? It should have gone with Nicholas Parsons, really.
I got to work and went straight to the works canteen. Fish fingers and chips followed by chocolate sponge and chocolate custard set me up for the late shift. I'd rather not have been working today, but I did get some comfort from looking out of the window at a wet afternoon. I wasn't missing anything. Back in the day a Sunday afternoon shift would (generally) be dull to the point of being tedious, but that was when hospitals were effectively closed at the weekends. Nowadays there are quite a few clinics going which generate work for me, and I was rather busier than I had really hoped to be.
I’ve got another late shift tomorrow…
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