After a night spent asleep (and not listening to snoring, quarrelling and growling) I made toast and peered into the Internet, and rolled my eyes. Only a few short years ago one of the main reasons the UK left the EU was that the British public didn’t want foreigners coming into the UK without any sort of control. And now the same public is up in arms because that policy is actually in place and refugees need visas. Yesterday I mentioned that the town that tried to stop the lifeboat from saving refugees is now marching in support of them. What is the point of democracy when the electorate doesn’t actually know what it wants?
Five friends had a birthday today; unusually all five people were people with whom I have actually spoken in the last few months, and all got the birthday video. I redeemed some Sham Rocks (it’s a Munzee thing) then we went to the park…
We got there without incident and whilst Treacle carried her ball Pogo alternated between playing catch and sniffing the dog pee on all the trees. Just as we were walking through the Chinese garden we had fun (!) Treacle was cowering up against me as some huge fluffy dog was towering over her. There was some odd-looking chap at the other end of this dog’s lead and I asked him to drag his dog away. Rather than replying he made some odd sound which was half-way between a laugh and a cough. So I repeated myself and told him to take his dog away before Treacle nipped it. He made the same laughing-coughing noise and seemed utterly unconcerned when Treacle did nip his dog (like I warned him). We hurried off; he followed us. We turned right; he followed us. We turned left, he followed us. We met some other dog walkers and I warned them of this bloke and dog; the woman replied “what, him there?” and pointed at him, and said that she too had had issues with him and his dog as well. Eventually we shook the bloke off by loudly announcing “will you stop f…ing following us” and going back the way we came.
The child that shouted at Pogo on the way home was a mere trifle in comparison.
We hadn’t been home long when “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” arrived for the start of our little road trip. First of all to the petrol station (Sainsburys in Ashford) where it turned out that they were selling the cheapest petrol we saw anywhere today.
From there we popped to the hospital for a quick check-up; favourite youngest granddaughter is still smaller than the average unborn baby at her stage of pregnancy. The littlun’s mother, grandmother and great grandmothers are all short-arses but I’m not sure that has been taken into consideration. She’s got a scan booked for tomorrow – you’d think they’d have done it all in the one visit today, wouldn’t you?
We then popped to Tesco for Belgian buns, drove home to collect the dogs, and set off to Hastings to see Dad.
It didn’t take long to get to the old homestead. We had a cuppa and scoffed the buns and put the world to rights. Dad seemed reasonably well.; he’s being messed about by his local hospital though. If he doesn’t get any sense from them in the next day or so I shall kick some arse.
The dogs were well behaved, but after a while they got restless so we said our goodbyes and took the dogs for a little walk.
Bearing in mind today is a Qrewzee day (it’s a Munzee thing) and there were quite a few of them at Winchelsea Beach, we went there. We walked (and Qrewzee-ed) from the car park up to the old lifeboat station and back. It was a lovely walk; a distance of just over two miles. Nothing to what we used to walk back in the day, but turned out to be quite far enough when your unborn granddaughter is playing football with your daughter’s innards. It was a shame that one of the dogs’ tennis balls got lost, but there is only so much following round behind dogs picking up their balls that you can do.
From Winchelsea Beach we followed the coast road through Rye, Camber, Lydd and Dungeness to Folkestone where we dropped “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” home, and also dropped Pogo off. He’s having a little sleepover with his mummy today. I’d rather he didn’t, but he is “Daddy’s Little Angel TM”’s dog and is (in theory) just having a prolonged holiday with us.
Shortly after we’d said our goodbyes I slammed on the car’s brakes to avoid crashing into a car, the driver of which had decided not to slow down at all for a roundabout, but just took it at breakneck speed expecting everyone else to get out of her way. Fortunately everyone did, even though the etiquette is that that people slow down when approaching a roundabout…
I squealed her up to rate-driver dot com, and then the car’s tyre pressure warning came up for all four tyres.
We came home, I had a cuppa and pootled on the Internet a little whilst I waited for the car’s tyres to cool down, then went out and used the gadget “er indoors TM” had got me to check and pump the tyres. All were just on the border of what their pressure should be, so I put a bit more air into them (as you do) then ironed shirts until “er indoors TM” came home.
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