“Darcie
Waa Waa TM” got her name from the constant crying she once did
one night. Whenever she stays over she goes one of two ways – either sleeps
like a log or screams all night long. I *think* I heard some whinging
around midnight, but other than that either she was quiet or I slept through
it.
As
I peered into the Internet this morning I saw my grandson hadn’t slept that
well – he’d been WhatsApp-ing silly You-Tube videos to me with the messages
time-stamped at half past two.
I
wonder if his mother knows?
I’m
not telling her.
I also saw someone with whom I used to work many years ago
was taking part in the Shit Box Rally; a charity
event in which you drive an old wreck of a car thousands of miles. Adelaide to
Perth via Uluru is a trip of three and a half thousand kilometers – that’s over
three times the length of the UK. Her team – the Foxy Morons – are travelling
in a knackered car called “Sharon” and are currently on the second day
of an eight day trip.
With “er indoors TM” and the dogs all
upstairs in the attic room with littlun, I got dressed with the light on which
was something of a novelty. I set off to find my car; looking in people's
gardens for bricks as I went. My plans for a water garden will need a few
bricks to bodge the waterfall into place. I found quite a few bricks in one
garden but wasn't quite brave enough to nick them.
As I drove to work there was what could have been an
interesting program on the radio about assisted dying. Whether or not someone
should be allowed to end their own life is something of a moral minefield. It
was a shame that the panel discussing the matter consisted of an Imam, a Rabbi,
a priest and some other religious crackpot. Everything they said or discussed
or considered was entirely dependent on their religious ideas; few of which
seemed to have any basis is common sense. Why does ethics and morality go hand
in hand with crackpot religious nonsense? The question was then asked that if
it is up to god when someone dies (which was about the only thing the panel
could agree on), then why do we have hospitals? The panel struggled to
answer this; but eventually formed a consensus that apparently gods don't mind
people being kept alive, it's the dying they are more concerned about.
This was followed by the farming program which featured an
article about some management consultancy firm which was buying out leases of
smaller farms and sacking the tenant farmers who didn't subscribe to their ways
of talking in management catchphrases. Those being given the elbow were of the
opinion that there is more to running a farm than spouting nonsensical
management-speak that means nothing to anyone. It turns out they were right.
There's an old adage: "fine words butter no parsnips". It
would seem that fine words don't grow any either.
I drove up a motorway which was surprisingly busy at
quarter to seven on a Sunday morning. As I drove I watched the antics of a
school minibus which looked like it was being driven by a committee of
schoolkids judging by the way it was going far too slowly up the middle lane
with occasional swerves here and there. I got past it at the earliest
opportunity; the thing was full of schoolkids. I can't help but wonder what
they were up to so early on a Sunday.
I got to work. I can't pretend I wanted to work today, but
if I hadn't been working at work I would have been working in the garden, and
there's a lot less heavy lifting in a hospital blood bank.
I came home via the house in whose garden there were
bricks. I knocked on the door to ask if I might have them, but there was no
answer.
“My
Boy TM” suggested I might get old bricks from Facebook Marketplace.
Old second-hand used bricks are of sale on Facebook Marketplace at fifteen pence
per brick more than I can get new ones in B&Q.
“er indoors TM” boiled up a steak
dinner which we washed down with a bottle of merlot. Perhaps that’s why I’m so
tired? Today was certainly a lot less arduous than a non-working day… but it
did start three hours earlier.
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