"er indoors TM" must have
carried "Furry Face TM" up to bed last night; it
was a hot night and a combination of the heat and his bad back had him panting
for much if the night. And as I panted I fussed helplessly.
I got up shortly before 7am and checked out his
symptoms on-line. It’s rather silly really. I give "Daddy’s Little
Angel TM" loads of stick for her constantly phoning NHS 111
every time "Stormageddon - Bringer of Destruction TM"
farts, but I’m fussing over my dog like a thing possessed. If taking him to the
vets wouldn’t be a waste of several hundred pounds I’d be there like a shot.
This has made me think; this is a saving
the NHS could make. My dog has got a long-standing back injury which had flared
up after overdoing it during a very physical play in the river last Thursday.
He needs rest. This has all happened before. Going to the vets will achieve
nothing. End of story. I’m not taking him to the vets partly because it will achieve
nothing and partly because from experience I know how much it will cost. But if
it was free (like the NHS) we would
go just because we could. And the vets would do a very thorough job (because they have to) which would cost
someone; if not me.
I wonder how many human cases would
think twice about going to the quack if you had to stump up five hundred quid
only to be told you’ve got a bad back (like
the vets).
I then spent a little while trying to
see if the nutter who used to live next door has died. Over the years he ranted
at me so many times how much he hated his wife and he would leave her like a
shot, but there was no way he could afford to do so. I’ve not seen him for over
six months, and it speaks volumes that it is his wife who now does the gardening.
He loved the garden and wouldn’t let her near it.
Maybe he’s come into money and moved?
Maybe he’s died? I’m rather worried that he might (just possibly) still be alive somewhere and planning to mount one
of these terror attacks. I *really* do think he’s mad enough to do so. In the
past he’s ranted at me about how he hated the English, and how Al-Qaeda had the
right idea. If he’s dead then that’s a shame, but if he’s alive, what is he up
to? I would ask, but her-next-door hasn’t spoken to me (or anyone else in the street) for some years.
I posted on Facebook asking how you find
out if someone has died; I got all sorts of suggestions. Some might help. We
shall see. I even contacted the police to express my concerns.
We had planned a rather long walk for
today, but Karl had family problems, and what with Fudge being ill a day of not
going too far for too long was probably for the best. We collected "My
Boy TM" and his posse and we set off for the Isle of
Sheppey. As I drove, "er indoors TM" announced that
a couple of new geocaches had gone live which were (sort of) on our way. We stopped off to claim FTF on one; we left
the other for someone else to claim. We’re kind like that.
We carried on our way and were soon at
Whelan’s in Sheerness. Whelan’s is a wonderful place where they do all sorts of
garden ornaments really cheaply. "My Boy TM" bought
loads of stuff; I bought one statue and something with which I can repair one
of our water features, and I got some ideas for the garden. Much as I dislike
gardening I have ideas about the subject from time to time.
We then had a look in the garden centre
over the road where I totally failed to photograph a bumble bee in a foxglove.
Once back in Ashford we unloaded the
first fruit’s stuff, then came home to unload mine. But I couldn’t park near
the house; my statue is still in the back of the car. It can stay there until I
can park closer to home.
"My Boy TM"
then arrived and he drove for phase II of the day; lunch.
Cheryl had booked a table at the
Kennington Carvery; all you can eat roast dinner for a tenner. Very tasty.
However for some reason it was nowhere near as busy as sometimes it is. Perhaps
this might have been in no small part due to the children from hell at the next
table. They were probably aged fourteen to sixteen; they were shrieking like
five year olds.
We had dessert in McDonalds.
As we were driving past we popped off to
have a look at Mark and Lisa’s garden. If you like palms and water features and
Koi it is brilliant. Mark suggested a dog walk on the beach, so we all went
home, changed, collected dogs that *aren’t*
having rest enforced on them, and "er indoors TM"
drove for phase III of the day.
After a little confusion about car parks
we soon found Mark and Lisa, and we had a rather good muck-about on the beach.
I paddled a good fifty yards out to sea (where
it was shin-deep). "My Boy TM" went a *lot* further to where it was knee-deep
and tried to swim. He had a good go before finally giving up.
Finding the local tapas bar wouldn’t
serve drinks without food we then walked down the beach to the Jolly Fisherman.
The Jolly Fisherman is an odd pub, but on reflection no odder than I should
have expected. Family friendly pubs rarely have to advertise that families are
welcome. And most pubs with signs saying that families are welcome aren’t the
sort of place where any respectable family would dare to tread.
But we got a pint and sat in the
sunshine outside.
We came home; there was the offer of
going to the cinema, but I’ve never been a fan of “Pirates of the Caribbean“. Instead I spent a little time with my
dog. The day’s rest had done him some good. He wolfed down the meat we’d got
for him from the carvery, and he hobbled about to get the tennis ball that the
puppy had left. He then settled himself for the evening and we had tea. Cheese,
biscuits, crisps and half a bottle of port. Not too shabby…
