I slept well, but woke just before seven o’clock with
something of a guts ache. I lay there wondering if it was only a fart… I
decided to take no chances and got up.
I made toast and had a look at the Internet as I do.
It was much the same as it ever is.
Taking care not to disturb anyone I got dressed and
once I’d scraped the ice off the car I drove up to Maidstone. There was a
breakfast geo-meet today, and there are some geo-puzzles in the area which
involve finding where a particular photos was taken. I thought I might have a
little walk solving those puzzles before the meet.
As I drove the pundits on the radio were interviewing
some Christians who live in a war zone somewhere or other. Rather than seeing
the senseless violence and massacre as being tragic, these crackpots somehow
thought it all evidence of their god’s love. How on Earth did that work?
I almost fell at the first hurdle when I got to
Maidstone. The car park I found wasn’t a RingGo one. It was Apcoa which meant
downloading and setting up their app. Back in the day you could just put some
money into the machine. Nowadays everything has its own individual app, and you
have to waste fifteen minutes setting up something you will never use again.
I’ve seen RingGo everywhere; I’ve never seen Apcoa anywhere.
With car eventually parked I went for a little wander.
I found three of the locations I was seeking and got the information I needed.
Three eluded me though. I still need to find a ruined church, “the year of
the bird” (?) and a church
with a square belfry with an odd turret on one side.
Feeling a bit peckish I thought I might go to where we
were having the geo-meet and have brekkie before everyone else arrived. We were
meeting in the local Wetherspoons…
Wetherspoons aren’t bad in that they are cheap and
cheerful and you know what you are getting… Well… let me rephrase that.
Wetherspoons are bad.
OK, they are cheap (if far from cheerful), and
you know what you are getting… You are getting ignored by the surly and
disinterested schoolchildren who work there, and eventually you will get rather
substandard food not so much served up by them as slapped down in front of you
by them. It’s a sad look-out when they can’t fry an egg, isn’t it.
With a very poor massively over-priced brekkie scoffed
everyone else arrived, and we had a rather good half an hour chatting. It
seemed I missed a rather good walk round London on Friday…but with my mates
having walked forty-five thousand steps I’m rather glad I hadn’t joined them.
It would have been good to have stayed longer, but I
had to get home.
As I drove home, heart
surgeon Stephen Westaby was on Desert Island
Discs. He was surprisingly interesting. Apparently he was a very quiet and shy
chap until he sustained a serious head injury after which he was very loud and
outgoing. Makes you think, doesn’t it?
He made a very interesting point about the surgical league tables that the government is
so keen on. He doesn’t do that well on those league tables… because he’s doing
open heart surgery on patients who are critically ill. Comparing him with
someone who specialises in ingrowing toenails is hardly fair, is it?
I got home and “er indoors TM” went
out to a Mother’s Day bash with “My Boy TM” and
his tribe. I took the dogs out. Bearing in mind how many normal people had been
swarming round Scadbury Park yesterday I decided against Kings Wood today.
Instead we walked round the block. One of my Wherigos had a “did not find”
reported last week. We walked round to it and saw it was where it was supposed
to be.
We came home, and once I’d been round the garden with
a bucket gathering turds I got the lawn mower out. After two minutes I turned
the lawn mower off and went and got the turd bucket again. I started mowing; I
went and got the turd bucket again. You’d be amazed at how much dung three
small dogs can generate.
I made myself a cuppa, then had a look at the clues
I’d gathered whilst walking round Maidstone earlier. I came up with some
locations which look sensible on Google street view…
I Munzed, then Wordled. “Music” gave me
nothing, but amazingly “trade” gave me four correct letters in the
correct places, and so with only one possibility I got it on the third attempt
with “grade”.
I then settled underneath a pile of dogs and watched a
couple of episodes of “Pride and Prejudice” until five past three. That
was when ChatGPT said that I could again ask it to make some pictures. I got it
to make more dog pictures. I’ve made quite a few of these… I wonder when the
novelty will wear off.
“er indoors TM” came
home with left-over dinner meat for the dogs and a chocolate éclair for me.
Result all round. She sorted a pizza for tea and we watched more of the TV show
about Jon Richardson helping to restore a derelict pub in Yorkshire.
For all that there’s a massive fundraising campaign to
do the place up, and loads of people volunteering to help, I can’t help wonder
why the place closed. The answer has to be something I’m forever ranting about…
Out of interest I’ve done some sums…
The village where Jon Richardson’s pub is in has (about)
one
hundred and sixty-six residents.
Last year (2025) the average UK pub (that
didn’t go bust) had a turnover of ten
thousand pounds per week.
So either everyone in the village needs to spend sixty
quid a week in the pub or they need to get loads of tourists in. But look
on a map – the place is miles from anywhere.
I wish them well…
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