I was woken by a wet
nose up the bum at five o’clock this morning as “er indoors TM”
helped the puppies up to the big bed. The puppies are no trouble in the big
bed; they both curl up tightly and you really wouldn’t know they were there.
Unlike a couple of years ago when their places in the family wolf-pack were
taken by Fudge and Pogo who would both somehow manage to take up about three
times more area (each) than was physically possible.
My
alarm eventually told me to get my arse out of its pit, and my arse took some
shifting today. The strain of yesterday’s hour and a half of “Darcie Dancing”
was taking its toll. I could hardly move.
There
was (amazingly) something of note on Facebook this morning. The Town
Crier of Hastings has resigned in protest that Hastings will no longer host the
national town crier’s
contest.
I can’t help but think that what with inflation running at over ten per cent
and only twelve other local council areas in the country being more deprived than
Hastings,
Hastings council has far more pressing matters than a town crier contest which
will be of no interest to anyone but a vanishingly small minority.
It
turns out that for some councils a Town Crier is a paid job which they fund. I
always thought it was an honorary thing. If Ashford were to advertise for a
Town Crier, I’d volunteer to do it for free. It looks like being a bit of fun.
But
rather than resigning in a fit of pique, why didn’t the chap in Hastings do
something constructive like start a crowdfunding campaign to fund the contest?
We
got the dogs into the car and drove round to the Repton estate for Dog Club. Morgan and
Bailey had a whale of a time. Treacle started to join in, but I made the
mistake of stroking another dog and she had a fit of jealousy. Eventually she
sniffed a couple of other dogs. It is very much baby steps with Treacle at Dog
Club, but I think we’re seeing some progress with her. Similarly bringing
Bailey home without any fox poo to wash off can only be a step in the right
direction.
There
was a minor incident when the bigger dogs came for their session and we had to
go. Morgan and Bailey flatly refused to leave. I had to drag them out; they
wanted to stay. I’m seeing that as a good thing.
As
we drove home Steve was on the radio. This week’s mystery year competition –
Jeffrey Archer, Harry Potter…? I was only ten years out.
We
came home, and the dogs all soon settled. Dog Club always wears them out. We
drove down to Folkestone to visit “Daddy’s Little Angel TM”,
“Stormageddon – Bringer of Destruction TM” and “Darcie Waa
Waa TM”. We went straight to McDinner where the most recent
fruit of my loin got added pickles on the Big Mac. Who knew such wonders were
possible?
We
then went to “The Works” for diaries (don’t ask!), and there was
a minor melt-down as we came back past the gaming shop. “Stormageddon –
Bringer of Destruction TM” wanted more Pokemon cards for his
collection. I was happy to get some for him so we went into the shop and he
told the nice lady what cards he wanted. She gave him a packet, and a free
bonus packet too. As we came out I asked him how many Pokemon cards he had. “These
ones” he replied, holding up what we’d just got in the shop. Mind you when
we got back to the abode of “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” and
opened the cards he was delighted with what he’d got in the packet. Some of the
best Pokemon cards there are, apparently. Even better than the ace of Pikachu,
or so I am told.
Eventually
the rest of the family woke me up, and we came home where I settled in front of
the telly and watched a few episodes of “Ancient Aliens” on the Blaze channel.
In the first episodes it turned out that Ronal Reagan had tried to get Mikael
Gorbachev to help him fight off an alien invasion. The next episode claimed
that yetis were something to do with Adolf Hitler’s secret base in the
Himalayas, and the third episode featured some utter bollox about Noah’s Ark
and the Book of Enoch.
The
trouble with “Ancient Aliens” isn’t that they talk
utter bollox. To me that’s the attraction of the show. The trouble is that the
idiots talking rubbish are so inconsistent and once they’ve presented some
stark staring nonsense as incontrovertible fact they then forget they’ve done
so. And so they present half a dozen utterly contradictory explanations for
pretty much everything on the planet. Who built the pyramids? God? Ancient
Aliens? A parallel dimension? The Loch Ness Monster? Yetis? Depending on which
episode you watch, all might be plausible, either individually or working on
various combinations..
“er
indoors TM” boiled up a very good bit of dinner which we scoffed
whilst watching the first episode of the new series of “Junior Bake Off”.
I do like that show, but just occasionally it all gets a bit much for some of the
contestants. They are all only small; is it fair to give them such stress?
As
I pootled about here and there today I found myself thinking more and more
about Scotland (of all places!). Last year a good friend (that I’d
known for twenty years) just upped and moved there leaving friends, family
and a pregnant daughter behind. The first anyone knew about the move was
hearing that he’d already gone. Yesterday I heard that another friend is also
in the throes of moving north of the border.
I
can’t imagine why anyone would just abandon family and friends and go five
hundred miles like that.
Mind
you they may well soon come back. When we were taking scouts to Canada we met
so many people who had enjoyed holidays in Canada, moved there, and found that
actually living somewhere was utterly different to having a holiday there, and
moved back within months.
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