Treacle
was rather restless in the night. “er indoors TM” took her
outside at four o’clock and came back up with the puppies. After a couple of
hours Bailey got off the bed and ran downstairs, but by the time I’d followed
her there was a bit of dire rear by the back door. At least she’d tried to get
outside.
As
I was up anyway I made toast and watched another episode of “Downton Abbey”
in which His Lordship tried to pork one of the maids, and Lady Sybil eloped
with the chauffer. It all happens in Downton Abbey, you know.
Whilst I waited for “er indoors TM” and the
dogs to emerge from their pits I made a start on my latest Wherigo project.
Being a GPS based game there is a lot of latitude and longitude co ordinates
involved, and it really doesn’t help that geocaching uses one format (N 51°
08.135 E 000° 52.920) and Wherigo uses another (51.1355388128128N
0.881931358029555E). Converting between the two gives great scope for
stuffing it all up.
You have to wonder why they don’t use the same format;
after all it is the same company.
I
put the bedding in to wash; for some inexplicable reason it was covered in dog
sick.
Being
Saturday we drove round to dog club. As always the dogs soon realised where
they were going and got incredibly over-excited. The whole idea of dog club is
rather simple, but there is something rather good about standing in a field
whilst a couple of dozen small dogs charge around having a whale of a time.
With
dog club done we drove home listening to Steve on the radio. We couldn’t listen
in on the way there – the controls of the car music thingy don’t work when it
is cold. As we do on the way home from dog club we strained our brains on the
mystery year contest. I had no idea about any of the music played; the only
thing which gave me a hint was the fact that the last part of the M20 opened in
that year… which (for me) narrowed it down to the mid to late eighties.
However according to Wikipedia it was 1991.
With dogs worn out from dog club and “er indoors TM” off on a
mission of her own I drove down to Hastings and Dad’s house. Together with
brother and nephew we carried on sorting Mum and Dad’s house… I say “sorting”;
pretty much everything that we wanted we took out a few months ago. Today we
bagged up all the stuff that needs to go. It was sad, but as I said to nephew
if we didn’t ding it, his descendants would just be dinging it in fifty years’
time when he goes.
As we dinged we found a box of lion poo (It really was
lion poo) that an aunt had given Dad to sprinkle on the garden. Apparently
it keeps the cats away. We also found some investment certificates with which
Dad clearly hadn’t been impressed, and a box labelled “double b*ll*cks”
which contained enormous fishing hooks from the days when he used to dabble in
fishing for skate which weighed as much as he did.
Sorting
the house didn’t take long at all. I came home and popped up the corner shop
for a sandwich where some bloke (pissed as a fart) was kicking off
because he didn’t want to pay five pence for a carrier bag.
I
then spent the afternoon on the sofa underneath a pile of dogs, periodically
opening the back door for poor Bailey who has got a rather impressive bout of
dire rear. I have told her many times not to eat dog poo, but will she listen?
“er indoors TM” boiled up a very good
dinner which we scoffed whilst watching the final of “Junior Bake Off”
which wasn’t so much won by one of the contestants as lost by another.
We had a bottle of Malbec too. Hic…
