“er indoors TM” and Treacle came to bed about
half an hour or so after I nodded off last night. I pretended to sleep as
Treacle stomped all over the place whilst “er indoors TM” argued and fought with her,
and then I lay awake only dozing on and off for much of the night.
It wasn't foggy when I
took the puppies outside this morning, but it had been raining. Usually we have
a refusal to go out when the ground is wet, but they charged out, did what they
had to do, and charged back in again. By the time I'd closed the back door behind
them, both babies were throwing themselves at the door to upstairs, squeaking
and squealing in excitement.
I
made toast and scoffed it whilst watching the first episode of the second
season of "Downton Abbey" in which the porked-to-death Turkish
attaché is now just a sad memory. I've said before that I like any kind of TV
show (or radio show or book) in which I can relate to the characters,
and the makers of "Downton Abbey" have got it nailed. As I
watched this morning I realised that "His Lordship" is a dead
ringer for one of the doctors with whom I work at Tunbridge Wells. The cow-bitch-from-hell
ladies maid could have been based on someone with whom I worked fifteen years
ago who would deliberately alienate herself from absolutely everyone she could.
The dowager countess could have been the twin of an old duck from the church
from my religious days…
Remembering
to pick up my lunch box I set off for work.
As I drove up the motorway I found myself being grateful for small
mercies; the fifty miles per hour dual carriageway bit has been reduced to only
eight miles long. But despite having this restriction so that road works can be
done, there is still no one actually doing any road works. You'd think that
having someone getting on and doing the road works would be a
pre-requisite for closing a road for
road works, wouldn't you?
As
I drove the pundits on the radio were talking about how Nicola Sturgeon has thrown in the towel as First Minister of
Scotland.
There
was an interview with the leader of the Scottish Tories who claimed that she
was leaving on a high as she'd pretty much exhausted all avenues available for
the Scottish independence campaign and had nowhere else to go. He also claimed
that the complete hash she'd made over the entire trans issue probably hadn't helped her, and he's probably
got a point. Interestingly he claimed that he had a bet with Ms Sturgeon that
she would be out of office before he would be, and I got the impression that he
was more interested in collecting the hundred quid he felt he was owed than he
was in anything else.
Work
was work; as I did my bit I had a text from the dentist. They have cancelled my
appointment with the hygienist next week. This isn't the first time they have
cancelled at rather short notice. As I have said before, if the place wasn't
just a hundred yards down the road I would have parted company with them years
ago.
I
re-scheduled but have been told I won't be seeing the usual hygienist. I
thought about making the observation that I see a different one every time, but
thought better of upsetting them. And
then an hour later they phoned me again; seemingly utterly oblivious to the
fact that we'd already booked another appointment.
“er indoors TM” boiled up dinner… we watched
telly… today was one of those dull days.
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