I woke about half past four following a relatively good
night. Some might think half past four is ridiculously early, but as Albert
once remarked, everything is relative.
Name dropping here? Having had afternoon tea with someone
who once accompanied
Einstein's violin by playing on the piano, I think I can claim first name
terms...
I got up and was *so* relieved that the snotty nose
had dried up somewhat. Or not so much "dried up" as "turned
into an annoying cough". I made toast and coughed through another
episode of "Shameless", then got ready for work. I'd had a
message yesterday; could I do the early shift today? I get to work early anyway
to avoid the traffic, so doing an early shift means I'm not there *that*
much earlier, but what with the early finish and missing the traffic on the way
home, I get home nearly two hours earlier. Result.
Having forgotten to sort lunch, I popped into the co-op to
get a sandwich. As I was there I asked the assistant if they had any boot
polish (as I'm getting low on the stuff). They didn't sell boot polish,
but as I wandered off in the general direction of the sandwiches so some other
random shopper kicked off a row about why the co-op (of all places)
didn't sell something as vital as boot polish.
Whilst I was there I got some cough sweets. Hall's
something-or-others. Back in the day I
would have got a packet of "Tunes". Nowadays you can only
get the cherry ones; and only from a pharmacy.
Or that is only in the UK. They still sell them in shops in
Europe. I would suggest this was another triumph of Brexit, but in the
interests of fairness, it seems that Tunes disappeared from UK shelves years
before Brexit was even suggested. How have they been gone so long and me only
just realising now? It's amazing what you miss if you don't stay alert.
As I drove up the motorway the pundits on the radio were
rabbiting on about what is surely a sign of our times. It would seem that
complaints received by universities
from their student have hit a record high in England and Wales for the fourth
successive year.
One of the things that many complain about is the poor
grades they are getting. Having stumped up the fat end of ten grand for tuition
fees, the thicker students feel they have paid for a better class of degree
than the ones they are getting. Back in the day the level of degree you got was
dependent on how well your scores were. The perception these days is that
because the students have to put their hands in their pocket, a 2:1 is the
least they should expect.
Funny old world...
There was then recordings played from yesterday's "Prime
Minister's Questions". Have you ever listened to them? In theory "Prime
Minister's Questions" is an opportunity for Parliament to hold the
Prime Minister to account for the actions of himself and his government. In
practice various members of the opposition make up all sorts of rubbish (on
the spur of the moment) in a shallow attempt to embarrass the government
and humiliate the Prime Minister. And then the Prime Minister makes up all
sorts of rubbish (on the spur of the moment) in a shallow attempt to
make the government look good, and to humiliate the questioner.
Sadly the bickering rarely gets above the level of
pettiness achieved by “My Boy TM” and “Daddy’s Little
Angel TM” in the early 1990s before they started school. It
would be rather amusing *if* Parliament wasn't so important. There must
be a better way to run the country.
I got to work and cracked on. During tea break my phone
beeped. The geo-Feds are happy with the preliminary stages of my next Wherigo
project. That was something of a result; it will keep me quite for the next few
weeks.
And I had two friend requests on Facebook. One was from a
"wipe-clean" young lady in tight latex. The other was from
someone who had its chest under very firm control, and was trying to sell me “top
quality” Koi. I suppose as marketing goes, that is a step in the right
direction. I'm more likely to succumb to the wiles of someone flogging
something for my pond than I am to the implied promise of a nudey sauce romp.
Not that I'm actually going to buy fish from random women
who accost me over the internet.
Having been watching the glorious sunshine from the work’s
window it was something of a shame that the heavy rain started just as it was
time for me to go home.
With the dogs not keen on getting wet I worked on my next
Wherigo project and got quite a bit done before “er indoors TM”
boiled up dinner. As we scoffed it we watched two more episodes of “Celebrity
Hunted” which has to be scripted rather than a reality TV show. Are the
celebrities *really* that stupid? If I was being hunted on that show I
would find somewhere in the back of beyond (like the New Forest or Wye Downs)
and quietly hide. I *wouldn’t* go stomping through central London or
central Birmingham grinning at all the CCTV and using my phone and credit card
all the time.
Yesterday I mentioned I’d ordered a fish pond filter. I
paid good money for it to be delivered today.
It hasn’t arrived.
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