I woke feeling raring to go and full of
energy... and saw it wasn't even one o'clock. I went to the loo, and tried to
get back to sleep. I then saw every hour of the night, not sleeping for more
than twenty minutes at a time.
I gave up with trying
to sleep, got up and had a shave. The bathroom sink was draining better than it
had been, which was a minor result. I made toast and watched an episode of
"Peep Show" in which (unlike the previous two episodes)
Olivia Coleman wasn't in the nip.
Absolutely nothing had happened on Facebook overnight (which was
another result), so I set off for work.
It took a few minutes
to scrape the ice from the car's windscreen, and it was good to be going up the
motorway to Maidstone rather than along the A-roads to Pembury this morning.
There were loads of lorries on the motorway playing silly beggars (as they
do), but there wasn't anyone coming head-on at me with headlights on full
beam as happens on the A-roads. And the journey to Maidstone whilst only eight
miles shorter took a full forty minutes less to travel than last week's
journeys.
As I drove the pundits
on the radio were interviewing some aide to France's ambassador to the UK about
the most recent deaths of migrants in small boats trying to cross the channel. Why were these people leaving a
perfectly safe country? What are the French doing to stop this sort of thing
happening? I have no idea; a combination of poor radio reception and a thick
French accent meant I couldn't understand a word the chap was saying.
Similarly there was
some woman from Gaza being interviewed who was also incomprehensible.
Why do they bring these
people on to the radio when they can't be understood? You'd think they'd vet
them first, wouldn't you? There must be plenty of people who can talk on
whatever might be the burning issue of the day who can be understood? Or am I
just being mean (again)?
There was also a lot of
talk about how in the upcoming elections the Labour party look set for a massive landslide
victory
with a majority of over one hundred seats.
Closer to home the
constituencies in Kent are changing quite
massively.
The map of the new
constituency
in which I shall be is rather interesting. The old Ashford constituency has
been divvied up into rural and urban ones and the old Ashford MP who so
publicly tried to get selected for the rural bit didn't get his way, and has
been selected for the urban one instead. The sensible money seems to think that
he won't get elected. Partly because of there being more Labour votes in urban
areas, and partly because he was caught with pictures of nudey ladies on the
computer that tax-payers bought for him.
Is the thought of being
out on his arse the reason why this chap has recently been all over local
social media getting his face seen in all sorts of places in a shallow attempt
to suck up to the electorate? Sadly much of the electorate aren't bright enough
to see through this.
I got to work where there wasn't any cake. During a lull in
proceedings I had a little look at the ordnance survey maps. “er indoors TM” has been talking about
creating a new geo-walk, so I sussed out some possible routes. All I have to do
is to persuade her that the routes are good... maybe a preliminary
investigation might be something we might do this weekend?
Being on the early meant I got out nearly two
hours earlier than I might have done. Just as I got home so my phone beeped.
Someone wanted to be my friend on Facebook. This one told he (according
to its Facebook profile, it is a “he”) is getting into the swing of his
slave's intensive training. Apparently day eight included a decent dose of
corporal punishment. If training slaves is anything like training dogs, I’d
suggest a packet of treats from the pet shop, though I suppose it depends on
what the slave is being trained to do. I
know I’ve asked before, but is this “sexy”? It’s been a while but I’m
sure that “sexy” never used to be quite like that.
Once “er indoors TM”
finished work she boiled up a decent bit of scran and set off bowling. I ironed
some shirts whilst watching a Netflix Film. “The Midnight Sky”
was (like most films) probably about half an hour too long. It wasn’t
bad, but it wasn’t good either. But once the ironing was done it gave me an
excuse to sit on the sofa doing nothing underneath a pile of dogs.
I wonder if I will sleep tonight?
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