Having been wide awake since two o’clock I wasn’t very
happy when Treacle started whinging at three o’clock and then proceeded to
stomp over everyone and everything. The assorted snoring wasn’t helping, and I gave
up trying to sleep at four o’clock. I watched a couple of episodes of “The
Young Ones” as I scoffed brekkie. In a novel break with tradition I scoffed
a bowl of cereal for the simple reason that we’d run out of bread for toast. A
bowl of muesli is a hundred and twenty more calories than the toast. One lives
and learns.
I had a look at the Internet… someone was posting on
one of the American geocaching Facebook pages asking what the phrase “as the
crow flies” meant, and a lot of people were giving completely wrong answers
whilst berating others for being so wrong when they were utterly wrong
themselves.
And then I despaired as I read some of the other
drivel that I fund on my Facebook feed. When I was a lad people had just landed
on the Moon. I had such high hopes for the future, and one of my greatest
disappointments has been to find out just how stupid so many people are. Something
so amazingly high-tec as the internet is little more than a vehicle for
vaccine-deniers and flat-earthers.
And by the time half past five arrived I was knackered
and ready to go back to sleep.
The motorway was rather busy at six o'clock this
morning. I rolled my eyes as the pundits on the radio were interviewing one of
the head honchos of the farmer's union about how government targets for
leaving certain amounts of farmland to grow naturally aren't being met.
Apparently there's no agreed funding for this any more, and a farmer can either
leave an area of land to go to seed, or he can plant it up and make a profit
from it. It was claimed that back in the day when the UK was part of the EU there
was money to be had for leaving fields fallow, but now many farmers are now far
worse off. Because of Brexit and leaving the EU who were paying for leaving
fields unplanted. The chap being interviewed got rather cross about the
misinformation that was being published at the time of the referendum and said
that no farmer would ever have voted to abolish their subsidies if they’d known
where the money came from.
For all that I can sympathise with anyone whose gravy
train has been derailed, I can't help but think that it's ten years too late to
come up with that sentiment.
I popped in to Sainsburys to get some bread. If I want
toast tomorrow, that was a must-have. I saw the loaves we normally have, and I
also saw Sainsbury's own stuff at just over half the price. I got some of the
cheap stuff; I'll find out if it is any good tomorrow. I got lunch, shaving
gel, tennis balls and some stout as well, and paid for the lot using my Nectar
card. Or paid for most of it. I could only pay in amounts of two pounds fifty
pence on the Nectar card and so had to scrape up the odd pence.
I then steeled myself to tackle Hermitage
Lane. There's been threats of major road works and so I'd left home
particularly early this morning just in case. There were major road works, but
not too much of a delay just before seven o'clock.
I went in to the early shift. The night shift was glad
to see me; it had been a busy night. And today wasn't overly quiet either. And
I found something you don't see very often - a case of pseudo Pelger-Huet anomaly. I took some photos,
and will write it up as CPD when I get a moment.
There were cakes at tea-time, an in a herculean effort
of self-control I didn't have one. That saved three hundred calories. Had I not
been over on the brekkie calorie count I might have succumbed.
An early start made for an early finish. The drive in
had been along busy roads, but dry roads. It was hossing down as I came home,
and probably half a dozen police cars (marked and unmarked) flew past
dangerously as I headed homewards. I have no idea why – there was no incident
on the motorway that I saw.
“er indoors TM” boiled up a
rather good chili which we scoffed whilst watching more “Junior Bake Off”,
and then “Romesh
Ranganathan’s Parent’s Evening” in which various so-called celebrities
couldn’t wait to show off their ignorance on national TV. The footballer didn’t
do too badly, but the bloke in a really sexy dress and the one with the
lop-sided jugs didn’t do too well.
These “celebrities” wind me up – they get
ridiculous amounts of money for supposedly being famous. Even though hardly
anyone has ever heard of them. I’m not so much jealous of them as I resent
them. Is that wrong of me?
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