The first night shift I ever did was in early 1985. I was
phoned and asked to do my thing on five separate occasions. I finished the last
one at half past midnight.
Last night’s shift was five hours shorter than that one of
all those years ago. Far from getting a phone call every time I was needed I
just stayed in work and dealt with stuff as it arrived, and stuff arrived
constantly all night long. Including a red alert during the hour before
midnight.
I was rather pleased to see the early shift arrive this
morning.
As I came home I listened to the radio. There was talk
about what our new Prime Minister was getting up to. Something about public
finances… From what I could work out it is being claimed that the previous
government cooked the books and it has now come to light that he country is
massively in debt; far more so that was ever thought. The obvious answer (so
some shrieking harridan claimed) was to tax the extremely rich. I had hoped
the Labour party had given up on such divisive ways years ago. Taxing the rich
is all very well all the time the country has got rich people to tax. But were
I massively rich and was told that I would have to pay far more tax purely
because I could, I would up sticks and piss off to another country where it
wouldn’t cost me quite so much.
I got home just as “er indoors TM” was
walking down the road with the dogs. She’d taken her car for its MOT, and
walking the dogs back gave them an outing. I stood and waited for them. Treacle
saw me but the other two were too busy sniffling about and didn’t see me. Which
is why when we are in the woods they walk straight past squirrels and don’t see
deer only twenty yards away.
I had a shave and shower and went to bed. Morgan and Bailey
followed me. Morgan jumped on the bed and curled up. Being too small to jump up
Bailey just looked at me rather pathetically. So, falling for her ruse, I
lifted her up and she flew at her brother and a rather vigorous play-fight
kicked off.
They eventually settled.
Over a mid-day brekkie I peered into the Internet. Facebook
randomly decided I might like crochet and presented me with a post from a
crochet group in which various people were having a really nasty, spiteful and
personal argument about the difference between tortoises and turtles. On a
crochet group.
Some people will argue about anything.
And I then realised something. Up until the last election
our local MP was all over Facebook like a rash. Since he got the heave-ho he’s
been quiet (well he would be, wouldn’t he?) But I’ve not heard a single thing
from our new chap. Does he not do social media or am I looking in the wrong
place?
I got the ironing board out and spent some time this
afternoon ironing. As I sorted shirts I watched episodes of “Four In A Bed”.
This afternoon’s episodes were rather good in that not a lot of love was last
between the contestants. That show is always best when those taking part hate
each other.
“er indoors TM” boiled up sausages and
chips and went bowling. As she walked out the door she announced that as she’d
picked up her coat she’d destroyed my ironing board. That wasn’t *our*
ironing board. That was *my* ironing board…
Ho hum…
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