Treacle woke me when she jumped of the bed this morning. I
chased after her, but I wasn’t quick enough and she was sick on the landing.
She’s been eating grass for a day or so; if this continues it will be a trip to
the vet.
I made toast and had a look at Facebook. People who’d
clearly never watched episodes of the original “Star Trek” were
quibbling about petty details of the program. People who spend fortunes making
models of daleks were finding the most trivial faults in each other’s efforts…
all safe in the knowledge that they would never have to actually meet whoever
it was they were being nasty to, with and about.
I also discovered that this weekend is the Mega-geocaching
event of the year. The country’s biggest meet-up of hunters of Tupperware… I’ve
said before that geocaching is very much a closely guarded secret. Had I known
I probably wouldn’t have gone… but it would have been good to have had the
opportunity.
I drove the dogs up to Kings Wood. Someone had said that they
couldn’t find one of my geocaches up there. We walked a mile into the woods to
where I hid the thing last winter and I found it right away.
As we walked the dogs chased a squirrel and were utterly
oblivious to the deer that was watching them. Treacle waded belly-deep in a
swamp (again). Bailey rolled in fox poo (again) and then ate it.
We came home for a serious scrub in the bath with copious
amounts of hypoallergenic dog soap; Bailey gets rashes. She can eat fox poo,
roll in fox poo and rancid swamps, but the wrong soap gives her a rash. Dogs,
eh?
With dogs scrubbed I popped to the corner shop for
pastries; taking a circuitous route via a few local Greenies. Today was the
start of this month’s Munzee Clan War and I needed two Qrates (it’s a Munzee
thing).
Just as I got my second Qrate a rather foxy-looking woman
asked me it I’d ever wondered why there was so much suffering in the world.
Seeing a rather foxy-looking woman and her rather foxy-looking chum both
carrying Jehovah’s Witness pamphlets I thought I might have a reasoned conversation
with them.
Or that was my initial plan.
I told them that I had often wondered why there was so much
suffering in the world, but for me the burning issue wasn’t why there was so
much suffering; the question was why their God allowed it. They blathered some
platitudes in a lame attempt to make excuses for their God and asked if I
agreed. I said I didn’t. I said that all
the evidence of my experience and of human history gives three possible reasons
why their God allows the suffering. Either it is indifferent to humanity’s
suffering (or actually enjoys it). Or it is unable to do anything about
it. Or it isn’t actually there. The foxy mate then suggested that we turn to
scripture. I suggested we didn’t because (as they reluctantly agreed)
pretty much every bible verse is contradicted by another. By this point I felt
a bit sorry for them, and I threw them a bone. I said that of course there is
one subject on which their Bible was quite consistent. They smiled at that, but
their faces fell when I pointed out that it was homosexuality. In their efforts
to be inclusive they didn’t realise that being on the other bus was a big no-no
in the Bible. Mind you (as I told them) many of my family and friends “bat
for the other side” and that should “er indoors TM” croak
I would happily play pork swordfights if my protagonist would feed me on a
regular basis.
They tried to get away from me saying that they would pray
for me. I told them that prayer was dangerous… Not only is asking for something
in a prayer finding fault with the creator of the universe’s plan, it is also
being bold enough to suggest improvements.
That hadn’t occurred to them.
I remarked that I was once a committed Christian (I was
once a Steward in the Methodist Church and used to spout some right religious
bollox) and that I’ve since found that thinking for myself is a liberating
experience.
After that I deserved a cuppa and a pastry. And suitably
refreshed I spent some time in the garden. Lawns don’t mow themselves, you
know. I like to keep the lawn short, not so much because it looks better as
with a short lawn I can see dog dung so much easier. And then I spent a little
while farting about with the floating planters in the pond. I’m not sure that
this water cress has been the success it might have been.
I then dozed in front of the telly watching episodes of “Shameless”
“er indoors TM” boiled up a very good
bit of dinner which we scoffed watching a rather gritty episode of “Star
Trek: Strange New Worlds”. We washed dinner down with a bottle of Cava. The
plonk was something of a disappointment.
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