I had another restless night. Having woken at one
o’clock I eventually nodded off again only to be woken two hours later by no
end of crashing about from the back bedroom. Treacle was having a funny five
minutes. I settled her, went back to bed, and after an hour or so I woke in a
cold sweat following a nightmare in which because of government enforced
economies I was having to get the toilet to double up as a washing machine.
I got up, made toast and watched another episode of “Soulmate”.
It was a rather good show, but it made me think. Are all American homes about
four to five times larger than my house? I’ve never seen any home in an
American TV show which is even remotely close to the size of my small abode.
I had a look at the Internet which I do every day. The
usual tripe abounded, but one thing was interesting. Over the last few days
I’ve been mentioning the latest incarnation of Star Trek. Something else coming
back would seem to be Blake’s Seven; there’s talk of a re-boot. Apparently some chap
who has been a director in the most recent episodes had got the rights to the
thing. I always thought that him who played “Avon” in the original
series had those rights, but it turns out that Paul Darrow died seven years ago.
I wonder how many there will be in the new ensemble;
the original “seven” never got above six.
I Munzed, and got ready for work. It was still dark as
I set off. As I drove up a very busy motorway the pundits on the radio were
talking about the latest antics of President Trump.
He has invaded Venezuela. He wants Greenland. He openly insults his closest
allies. He does whatever he wants with no one brave enough to say no to
him. He will carry on like this until he dies. No one will stop
him; any sort of impeachment will just be ignored and there won't be any
more elections until he says so. As if he's ever going to have another election
after the debacle when they gave him the heave-ho last time?
Democracy, eh?
And despite the world about to dissolve into chaos
there was quite a bit of talk about Victoria and David Beckham. An ex-singer and an
ex-footballer quarrelling with their children is clearly of far more interest
to the masses than the possible end of the world.
I went to Sainsburys as I do. Having acquired a lot of
loose change from when I cashed up the Dog Club money at the weekend, I spent
quite a while this morning paying for my shopping with one, two and five pence
pieces at the self-service till. As I fed shrapnel into the machine, one of the
assistants glared at me. In the past she's complained that I shouldn't use
their self-service tills to get rid of my loose change, and in the past I've
told her that I will pay using my card *if* there's someone operating
the till for me. She won't open the till, but she will glare at me.
I got to work rather earlier than I might have done,
but with much of Hermitage Lane being one-way because of the road works I
wasn't taking any chances. Being a tad early I had a cuppa and Wordled, going
from "games" to "sully" in five moves.
Work was rather busy today. Very busy. I was glad
when it was home time.
I got through the traffic lights this evening quicker
than I did this morning, and was soon home. “er indoors TM” boiled
up cauliflower cheese and sausages which we scoffed whilst catching up with
episodes of “Junior Bake Off”. We had a bottle of plonk with dinner, and
I slept through more “Bake Off” than I watched.
I’m worn out…
No comments:
Post a Comment