I
woke in a cold sweat following a nightmare in which rather than giving me a pay
rise, the government had ordered all NHS staff to stand at bus stops where
members of the public would give us their unwanted and out of date food, and I
had been getting a lot of verbal abuse from a physiotherapist about a
half-chewed curlywurly. It sounds rather ridiculous, but at the time it was
rather frightening.
It
was with something of a sense of relief that I took the puppies into the garden
to do their thing.
With
puppies tiddled, Treacle placated and puppies safely deposited on a sleeping “er
indoors TM” I made toast
and watched some "Better Than Us" before setting off to work.
Much of the Cows Roundabout and miles of motorway were still coned off this
morning, but again still coned off for no reason that I could see. And with
absolutely no one working there.
As
I drove the pundits on the radio were still talking about President Putin's
ranting. It just amazes me that people are acting surprised at his attitude. Having
much of the world financing a war
against him, he's going to have the arse with those supplying the weapons,
isn't he?
There
was also talk about how Boy George is selling his house. It is up for sale for
seventeen million quid. Seventeen million quid... back when he was famous I
semi-managed a gang of mates who sort-of had a band. I arranged a few gigs for
them at which they never performed as they were always "practicing".
Had they ever practiced enough to perform, might I now be selling a house worth
seventeen million quid?
And
talking of selling a house, I've got to find the deeds to my Dad's house...
They aren't with all the paperwork he'd left us and the bank hasn’t got them. I
am reliably informed that deeds are all on-line these days. I've sent an email
to the Land Registry people; let's see what comes of that.
Work
was work; I had a good day with one of the trainees today teaching her blood
morphology. And with work worked I came home to find another slip from the
delivery people. Two days ago the delivery chap put a delivery slip through the
front door claiming that no one was home (and so he couldn’t deliver a
parcel) when “er indoors TM” was home. They tried to
re-deliver that parcel today… I say “tried to re-deliver”; they just
stuck another slip through the door (whilst “er indoors TM” was
home) and they now expect me to go into the post office in town to collect
the thing… The post office’s opening times is from nine o’clock in the morning
till half past five in the evening. I’ve told the company they can have the
parcel back. I didn’t say that they could stick it where the sun doesn’t shine,
but I hope they could infer that from my tone.
“er indoors TM” boiled up a
particularly good bit of dinner which we washed down with a ten quid bottle of
plonk from Aldi (quality!) whilst watching this week’s episode of “Bake
Off”.
I wonder if I will have
a headache in the morning – that cheapo bottle of plonk we had earlier in the
week left me feeling rather grim…
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