As I scoffed my toast this morning I saw that one of the
professional bodies with which I am associated has given out its Gold Award to
someone of whom I’ve never heard. They may well be very deserving of the
honour; I honestly don’t know the first thing about them. But in singling out
one person for what they have done automatically belittles the efforts of
others. Something similar happened in the geocaching world earlier this week
when the Geocaching Association of Great Britain gave out their annual awards.
Five people were nominated for “Geocacher of the Year”; the only one I’d
ever heard of has done noticeably less for the hobby that half a dozen others I
could name.
I’ve ranted about this sort of thing before. Honours are
all very well for the recipient but…
So many people get given an OBE or a knighthood for doing
the job for which they are paid, but the chap who ran our old Boys Brigade
company and the woman who runs the local scout group and the leading light of
the kite club gets nothing.
I got the leads on to the dogs… well, on to Treacle and
Bailey. For all that he seems to love his walks, Morgan is a bugger for getting
his collar and lead on. Does it hurt? Does he get travel sick? But I captured
him, and leaving “er indoors TM” working we set off for the
morning’s adventure.
As we drove Katherine Ryan was on “Desert Island Discs”
and was surprisingly interesting. Billed as a “comedian”, whenever I’ve
seen her on the telly she always looks miserable and doesn’t so much crack
jokes as just makes surly put-down comments. Perhaps I should try her again?
We got to Kings Wood where we walked for nearly four miles.
We met a couple of other dog walkers, but my three were as good as gold, coming
back to the sound of the whistle. Morgan did that hopping thing a few times.
The vet has hinted at surgery, but Fudge had a luxating patella too, and from
what the vet says (and people on forums whose dogs have had the surgery have
also said) the surgery seems to be a lot of stress on the poor dog for
minimal improvement. When Morgan’s patella pops out he hops a bit, gives the
leg a shake, and carries on regardless; just like Fudge used to do.
We came home. I settled the dogs then popped up the road to
get pastries. As I came back I retrieved our garden waste bin from where the
bin men had thrown it. I’ve whinged about the bin men before; it has to be said
that they could put more effort in *if* they tried.
As I scoffed my croissant and had a cuppa I had a look at
the geo-map. Over brekkie a new geocache had gone live in New Romney. With
little else I had to do today, I might have gone to chase a First to Find…
However the chap who lives up the road who’d flown out of the house yesterday
and done a round trip of thirty miles for the new cache in Sissinghurst had
already gone down to the marsh.
So with nothing else on the agenda I spent the afternoon in
the garden alternately reading “Game of Thrones” on the Kindle app and
trimming and tidying until it got too cold. I came in then and spent a little
while straining my brain solving geo-puzzle before preparing “Hannah”
“er indoors TM” sorted out fish and
chips which we scoffed whilst watching all sorts of nonsense from the Sky-Q
box. We’ve got the new series of Bake Off and Ghosts…
It might be good if telly stopped bringing out new stuff
for a few months to let us catch up…
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