I slept well, which was a result. I made toast and had a
look at the Internet. Facebook wondered if I might like to subscribe to the “Thunderbirds”
page. From what I could see, clicking the “subscribe” button wouldn’t
get me anything that clicking the “like” button would achieve other than
that I’d have to pay money.
I decided against it.
There wasn’t much else happening on social media so I had a
look at my emails. Several new geocaches had gone live near work; all needing a
canoe to get at them. And I had a load of “DNF” logs on my geocaches. “DNF”
means “did not find” and obviously this is what you log if you can’t
find a specific film pot under a log. However more and more people are using
this sort of log because they couldn’t solve the puzzle, or because they ran
out of time, or because their mum had phoned and said their tea was ready. Sadly “DNF” logs trigger the geo-feds
who then disable my caches for my attention (and sometimes even archive them)
when there’s not actually anything wrong with the caches.
And I had one or two (quite a few) whinging emails
about soggy log sheets and full log sheets on some of my caches as well.
I popped down the road to the dentist as I had an
appointment with the hygienist today. As I sat and waited so half a dozen
people all swarmed in together. Mum, dad and several assorted teenagers. They
went to the counter, signed in, and sat down. The receptionist then called and
asked them who was next. This request was greeted with blank stares. The
receptionist asked again. Again blank stares. The receptionist then told it
like it was. Six had walked in; only one had registered for their appointment.
It turned out that only one had an appointment, but the entire tribe had to
come along. Even though the one that was having the appointment was nineteen
years old. It transpired that in their world no one ever did anything on their
own.
I got called in. The hygienist rummaged round inside my
gob. There was a lot of hosing and vibrating. I have no idea whether my cake
hole was good or bad. I’m presuming good as the only thing she said to me was
to make another appointment for next March.
I came home, collected the dogs and took them to the woods.
As we walked down the field from the car park so there was a woman standing by
a hedge. With make-up trowelled on, she was clearly dressed more for the
catwalk than the woods. Morgan and Bailey ran past her into the hedge and
started barking. Another immaculately dressed woman came running out of the
hedge… well, to be precise she came waddling out of the hedge in some disarray,
but was immaculately dressed once she’d pulled up the skin-tight designer
jeans. It has to be said that the undercrackers she was sporting were far more
suited to nudey-sauce-romps than they were to a walk round the woods. But I
suppose that when you consider that the only other pair of undercrackers we’ve
ever seen in the woods had been shitted, everything
is relative. The two glamour-pusses then minced off in the direction of the car
park. We went the other way.
We walked perhaps further than we might have done today.
Having had emails whinging about my geocaches having full logs and wet logs I
checked up on a few only to find that the supposedly wet logs weren’t wet, and
the supposedly full logs weren’t full. And to add insult to injury, the
supposedly missing ones were exactly where they were supposed to be.
We came home. My plan had been to crack on in the garden.
But whilst we’d been walking round the woods with blue skies and glorious
sunshine, “er indoors TM” told me that we’d had
torrential rain at home. Massively different weather in places only five miles
apart.
Determined to do something in the garden I cleaned out the
pond filter. Back in the days of the gravity-fed green box, cleaning the pond
filter was a messy smelly back-breaking job that took over an hour. These days
with the pressure filter it is all done in less than quarter of an hour.
The drizzle then started, so like I do far too often I
settled in front of the telly and watched episodes of “Four in a Bed” in
which the people running a B&B for tradesmen in the Midlands paid what they
considered to be their going rate to upmarket hotels in prime tourist areas.
And in doing so brought out the worst in an already rather vindictive harridan.
I do like that show when they all get nasty with each
other.
“er indoors TM” boiled up dinner then
went bowling. Finding myself home alone with a working DVD player I put on the
first episode of the box set of “Brideshead Revisited”, and having seen
this so many times over the last forty years, tonight for the first time I realized
that the chap who played the part of cousin Jasper was the same chap who played
Marvin the Paranoid Android in the Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
A day when you learn nothing is a day wasted…
I think I might finally be on the mend… I hope so. I’m off
to work tomorrow.
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