A few days ago (on the day after bonfire night)
I mentioned how few fireworks had been going off. Looking at Facebook this
morning it would seem they all went up last night. I heard quite a few
explosions as I walked to and from the car last night. I didn’t *see*
anything; just heard large explosions. Sadly that is fireworks these days. When
I was a lad they were pretty things you looked at in the back garden. Then
rockets became “the thing” and it was all about pretty light shows in
the sky. I didn’t see a single rocket in the sky this year on any of the late
shifts I’ve done recently. These days it is all about the loud bang. My dogs
don’t seem bothered about them, but a lot of people were whinging about them
this morning. Partly because it was a problem, and partly because people like
to whinge. If loud explosions are seriously an issue then now is the time to
write to councillors and MPs and campaign to ban the loud ones. But will anyone
actually do anything? No. Of course they won’t. It’s like the footpath round by
Asda which floods every winter. Over the last couple of years I’ve written to
the MP and the local councillors, but no one else has done anything.
I Munzed, then Wordled from “night” to “loamy”
in five goes. “Loamy”? Seriously?
I took the dogs up to the woods which are really
autumnal now. We found one of those painted rocks… I’ll move it on. We walked
our usual circuit. The dogs chased shadows and missed squirrels and deer.
Treacle went through a swamp, and we had an “episode”. Some idiot woman
came up the path with two dogs. I say “dogs”; I really have seen smaller
horses. Whilst the woman shrieked at me that her dogs were friendly they both
set about chasing my three, and as Bailey screamed in terror the woman got
rather aggressive and ranted that a Jack Russell has a more dangerous bite than
either of her two. Before I could say anything she hysterically screamed that I
should “get a life” and stormed off leaving her largest dog facing us in
what I can only describe as a confrontational way.
What do you do when this sort of thing happens? I had
a not dissimilar episode six years ago when a passing looney attacked
Pogo, hysterically ranted at me, and (somehow or other) I was the one
who had the police coming round.
We came home. I made us both a cuppa then had a pootle
in the garden. I looked at the lawn and decided against mowing it. There’s
probably all sorts of bugs and things starting hibernation and don’t need to be
disturbed. The
grass people say that you should leave it after
late October, and who am I to argue with them?
So instead I harvested a frankly epic crop of dog
turds. Never a pleasant job, but certainly much easier now that Treacle has
gone back to “solid” from “liquid”. I pruned my Cornus alba and
buddleia… well, not so much pruned as “hacked back”. They both seemed to
benefit from being pruned last winter.
Whilst I was at it I pruned my own head. That pair of
hair trimmers has certainly proved to be a saving.
I came inside; it was cold in the garden. Being Monday
I cleaned out the fish tank filter and siphoned up the gunge off of the bottom
of the tank. Not that there was much, but I’ve set a reminder on my Google
calendar that Monday is “clean the fish tank” day. That little fish tank
is looking far better than it used to. Live plants, live snails and cleaning
out the filter weekly has made a serious difference.
I wrote up a
little CPD (as I do), then cracked on with ironing
shirts. As I ironed I watched a couple of episodes of “The Doll” on
Netflix.
I had a little kip. “er indoors TM” boiled
up dinner then went bowling. I tumble-dried undercrackers (never a dull
moment) whilst watching more Netflix.
I’m worn out… I’ve got another late shift tomorrow.
Meanwhile research has shown that Daves are the best at doing DIY…
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