For once, pretty much nothing was kicking off on social
media this morning, so once I’d scoffed toast I got ready for the off. I’d
booked today as a day’s holiday as “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” had
some errands to run, but she’d changed her plans. So rather than cancelling my
day off, I thought I’d take it anyway.
I took the dogs out. With no burning need to hurry home we
went up to Kings Wood. Orlestone is a nine-minute drive away; Kings Wood is
twenty minutes, but a much bigger wood with a lot less mud.
As we drove the pundits on the radio were talking about the
summer’s various festivals that had taken place. Apparently every year about a
quarter of a million tents are left behind at festivals in the UK.
This was always a problem; back in the day there used to be a biker’s meet-up
on the Romney Marsh and after they’d gone the landowner would offer free tents
to anyone who wanted to come along and take one away, but now the numbers of
tents have got too many, and the things are gathered up and chucked into landfill
by commercial companies.
I found myself thinking of the years when we used to go to
kite festivals and spend hours taking our camp down. Perhaps we should have
just said “sod it” and left them all behind?
We got to the woods and took a rather circuitous walk…
because we could. We went for (almost) five miles and as we went we met
two other dog walkers and one group of forestry commission workers. Morgan ate
blackberries from the brambles, Treacle waded in swamps, Bailey was the one who
would disappear, but would come back when called.
But they seem to be getting better at posing for the
camera.
After five miles we got back to the car, and came home. The
dogs were soon snoring so I popped up the road to get some pastries, and also
to chat up the scaffolders. Our washing line is held up by three scaffold
poles. They were old when we moved in thirty-two years ago and are now rusting
through at the bottom. It can only be a matter of time before they collapse so
I’m on the lookout to replace them. The scaffolders didn’t have any spare…
shame. I eventually found what I need (what I actually need; not what I can
bodge) on Amazon. So do I replace the
poles now… or wait for them to collapse? They might collapse tomorrow; they
might do another few years. Mind you the ones on Amazon are quite a bit shorter
than the ones that are currently in the garden… if any of my loyal readers are
walking past a building site…
And then I smelled something. I looked down – the mostly white
Bailey had a rather odd-looking yellow smear on her neck. Fox poo! She wasn’t
happy about being woken and scrubbed in the bath. And then we found some rather
yukky marks on Morgan’s back. He wasn’t pleased to be chucked in the tub
either.
As I have said many times before, no day off work is
complete without a couple of hours spent doing ironing, and today was no
exception. As I ironed I watched a couple of episodes of “Shameless”
then wrote up a little CPD.
“er indoors TM” sorted out a very good
bit of dinner which we scoffed whilst watching more of “Bake Off: The Professionals”
which tonight I couldn’t take seriously. Things started badly with one of the
judges talking about “dickhead pastry”. Having rewound and replayed a
couple of times we think he actually meant “decadent pastry” and I misunderstood
the accent. From then on my attention was divided between the amazing baking
and the dreadful haircuts. And one of the contestants was wearing a rather
obvious wig. What’s the etiquette when seeing someone wearing a frankly
dreadful wig? Do you politely try to keep a straight face, or fall about
pointing and laughing? I can’t say I’m happy being a slaphead, but the
alternative is far worse. Isn’t it?
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