I slept well, which was a result. I woke shortly after
six o’clock to the sound of rain on the window. The sound of rain is one of the
most depressing sounds there is. There are those that like rain; those that sit
inside and look out at it. I wanted to go out.
I made toast and had a look at the Internet. There was
endless support for lifeboats, and the right wing thugs that have been running
them down have gone strangely quiet. Last night’s episode of Star Trek got
mediocre reviews. For all that it was a good episode it was (very obviously)
a remake of what had gone before in the genre, and those that were determined
to dislike the show were very quick to point it out. And American blood bankers
were discussing techniques that have been redundant in the UK for at least
fifty years.
And there was a lot of talk about some local café
closing and how we should all support these small businesses. Why? Yesterday I
paid the thick end of eight quid for a rather mediocre cup of coffee and three
bite-sized pastry things (which were on the burned side) from a local
coffee shop. Why should I spend out on massively over-priced things I don’t
want just because someone’s decided to make their living from selling massively
over-priced things I don’t want?
I Munzed, and Wordled from “sound” to “aster”
in five goes. Aster… it’s
a sort of flower. I then took the dogs to the
woods. With time short we went to Orlestone where there was only one other car
in the car park (and that one left as we arrived). We walked a short
walk; the first park of the wood was muddy enough and the lower part soon
becomes a swamp.
As we drove I listened to more of my Brideshead
Revisited MP3 audiobook… and decided to give up with it. It’s left out major
plot segments and major characters. I’ll try something else.
We came home for a bath. You’d be amazed how much muck
sticks to the belly of a small dog.
And then I said goodbye to the household, drove up to
the station and collected my brother for a little road trip. Off to Bletchley.
We made good time up the M20, but there was quite a
hold-up at the Dartford crossing. There always is.
South Mimms services was something of a game – we had
a Subway lunch which was massively overpriced. Fow all that it was rather good
I wouldn’t use it again simply because of the self-service machines.
From there it was a straight run to my cousin’s house.
I was impressed with the sat-nav.
We met up with cousin Karen, her husband Martin, and
had a rather good afternoon with them and the cat. Another cousin and her husband
joined us for the evening. We went to a Nepalese restaurant for dinner. I’d not
had Nepalese before; I’d certainly have it again.
Things got progressively more vague as the evening
wore on…
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