9 February 2024 (Friday) - Young Ladies

Some nights “er indoors TM and the dogs come to bed making enough noise to wake the dead. Other nights they are as quiet as mice. I woke to the sound of rain at four o'clock to find them all fast asleep, and as the rain subsided so they all started snoring.
I got up and watched a bit of telly. I found myself engrossed in some infomercial about some gadget which vacuum-seals food. The grinning idiot advertising the thing made it sound rather good, but he was rather reluctant to say how much it cost. They so often are, and when they finally tell you the price it only takes a few seconds to find the same thing far cheaper on Amazon.
I watched an episode of "Peep Show" in which him out of "Ghosts" tried to pork Dobby. Not the Dobby out of Harry Potter; another one. To be fair to him out of "Ghosts", if my back was up to it I might try to pork Dobby too. Not the Dobby out of Harry Potter, that is.
With telly watched I sparked up the Internet on my phone. I had a friend request from someone claiming to be called "Goddess Tudde". Like so many of these supposedly women of dubious morals this one was wipe-clean, but was missing a glove. And (in all honesty) didn't come anywhere close to Dobby on the porking stakes (either the one on Peep Show or the one in Harry Potter)
I also saw a friend had commented about the Bash Street Kids (out of the Beano). "Fatty" and "Spotty" are now "Freddie" and "Scotty". Seriously?! Why not leave them alone? And why not call a kid "Fatty"? I was called that for years when at school. There was rarely any offence or bullying in being called that name, and on the very few occasions when there was, the one causing offence or trying to bully was shown the error of their ways. With a slap. I can remember one such wannabe bully going to show my mum the black eye I gave him.
I set off through the rain on a little Munzee mission. As I Munzed I had an errand to run. I had to post a letter. I went to the post office in the town centre; are there any post boxes any closer to home these days? I couldn't think of any.
And then it was up the motorway to work listening to the pundits on the radio asking if President Biden is too old for the job of being President. He's eighty-one.  Amazingly no one made the observation that his rival in the upcoming election (that idiot Donald Trump) is only four years younger. Bearing in mind that a term of office is for five years, if Mr Biden is too old, then so is Mr Trump.
Personally I'm looking to retire and I'm over twenty years younger than Mr Biden.
I got to work and cracked on with that which I couldn't avoid. At tea break my phone beeped with the news that an old mate's mum had died. But looking back Rene Small wasn't just my mate's mum. She was a dinner lady at school, she was one of the leaders when I'd been a kid in the Boys Brigade. She was a friend at church (before I saw the darkness). She was a fixture at the occasional meet-ups from the old days. She was one of those people in your life who are always there... until they aren't.
Then a colleague on maternity leave came in with her new baby... and I realised that Rene had to go to make room for the littlun (I suppose).
And mundane reality came calling as I had the news that despite my arguing, the geo-feds don't like fish ladders, and another young lady of presumably dubious morals sent me a message asking me to in-box her.
I didn't.
With work done I got home just as “er indoors TM was arriving home with Darcie Waa Waa TM who had come up for a little sleepover. We had pizza and pasta, trifle, party rings and iced gems, and some of the kidney that was the dogs’ treat.
When “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” and “My Boy TM” were small they were in bed and asleep by seven o’clock. It is fast approaching half past ten and littlun is showing no signs of flagging.
I am… having a toddler about the place is hard work…

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