On Tuesday I saw that
some of the random buckets in the garden had filled with rain water from last
weekend and had frozen solid. I chucked the bucket-shaped lumps of ice onto the
gravel and put the buckets so that they wouldn’t fill with rainwater again.
This morning as I took the puppies out I saw the bucket-shaped lumps of ice
were exactly as I’d left them three days ago. The temperature in the garden
clearly hasn’t got above freezing for any length of time over the last three
days.
The
puppies went to bother “er indoors TM” and I made toast and looked at the Internet.
Facebook was filled with prostitutes again. Despite their so-called “community
standards”, there’s no end of people on there offering to do the dirty deed
for cash.
There
wasn’t a lot else going on, so I used Google to check the traffic and the best
way to get to “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” (bearing in mind
the roads locally are difficult in the morning). It failed. Miserably. It
presented me with one possible route which was through the A2070 (which is effectively poggered by
road works) to junction ten of the motorway and said no other route was
available.
I
took pot luck and went to Junction Nine of the motorway via the way I go to
work, but at the motorway headed east rather than west. That route was
available. I wonder how I tell Google?
As
I drove the pundits on the radio were talking about nothing else other than the
death of David Crosby who
was the singer in The Byrds and in Crosby Stills and Nash. I’d heard of the groups,
but I can’t say I’d ever heard of him. Judging by the morning’s radio program
it would seem that I was in a minority of one; the world and his wife were
coming on air to talk about him. Pretty much everyone was unanimous in their
verdict on the chap. No one who knew him liked him, everyone who knew him
thought he was obnoxious and that he was a drug addict continually stoned out
of his mind, but everyone also thought that this was quite acceptable because he
was successful.
The
American dream, eh?
I
got to the abode of “Daddy’s Little Angel TM”. “Stormageddon
– Bringer of Destruction TM” was at school, and I had to amuse “Darcie
Waa Waa TM” whilst the most recent fruit of my loin had a
driving lesson. I turned on “Lube Tube” (as my grandson calls it)
and we danced along to the Duck Song, Shaddap You Face, the Gorgeous Tiny
Chicken Machine Show, and an hour’s loop of the Baby Shark song. If I wasn’t
actively waving “Darcie Waa Waa TM” about she would get
rather fractious. As she grows she is getting rather heavy to wave about.
I
was worn out by the time “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” came home.
I
had a cuppa, then set off in the general direction of work. I stopped off for
petrol before going in to work. With two weeks at Pembury coming up I thought I
might make the most of Maidstone’s cheap petrol. The petrol station at
Sainsburys near work was flogging petrol twelve pence per litre cheaper than the
one in Ashford. The chap in the queue in front of me said he’d just come from
Canterbury where the petrol was thirty-two pence per litre more expensive. It
pays to shop around…
I got to work and did
my bit… with the Baby Shark song continually going through my head…
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