I woke feeling rather
rough; I wonder why that should be. Mind you I don't think I was as
rough as my little dog looked. As I worked yesterday so he had
walked. He looked shattered this morning and he didn't stir from his
basket at all when I got up.
Over brekkie I showed
remarkable self control. On the geo-forums people were (yet again)
making snide comments about how crap mobile phones are when used for
geo-purposes. After two years of regularly comparing the use of a
mobile phone against several dedicated GPS units (and having seen
both find several thousand caches) I have seen that for GPS
purposes there is no difference between them. The phone screens are
bigger and in colour; the GPS units are (supposedly)
waterproof. Both have pros and cons. So why is the phone looked on
with contempt? I have come to two conclusions about GPS units. I
think my conclusions are mutually contradictory; I'm trying to work
out which is the correct one.
Either I am right; a GPS
unit is a rather expensive waste of money and those with them are
covering up the fact that they have wasted a large sum of money.
Or I am wrong; there *is*
something worthwhile about having a GPS unit, but there is a
conspiracy amongst those with them in that having acquired such a
unit you are then sworn to secrecy about what is so good about them.
I *could* have
banged on again. But I didn't. People just announce "YOU
DON'T UNDERSTAND" to which I say "true..."
I looked out of the
window. And sighed. There is a parking bay outside our house. It can
take seven cars if parked sensibly. Usually only six fit in there.
Last night when I came home there were four, as people had parked
really selfishly and stupidly. There are a *lot* of parking
bays like that round where I live. Having parked ten minutes away
last night and walked home I think we could probably have parked
another fity cars locally had people parked with just the teensiest
bit of thought.
This morning all the cars
had gone. Loads of parking spaces. And my saxophone was in the boot
of my car several streets away.
I took "Furry
Face TM" for a walk. We went round to the
park where I met an ex-colleague. She asked after my dog; she'd heard
he'd had a bad back. It's amazing how word gets about. We went on to
the lake where a certain dog tried to fight ducks. Ducks cheated by
going on to the water.
Whilst we were walking I
had a phone call from the hospital on St Helena. The boss out there
had been impressed with what he'd heard about me. I asked if the job
advertised (which had seemed so interesting and appealing last
week) was a "doing work" job or a management
job. It was to be a bit of both. (Been there, done that, didn't
like it.)
After a little chat the
boss came to the conclusion that I was the man for the job; I came to
the conclusion it wasn't the job for me.
We came home; collecting
the car on the way. Once home I got five gallons of beer from the
fermentation bin into the barrel in readiness for camping in May.
I then saxed for a few
seconds, hoiked a howling dog into the garden, and then saxed some
more.
I went to bed for a few
hours. I would like to have slept a little longer, but
toilet-fixit-man was due. He arrived early, gave my chod-bin a once
over and did the requisite sucking-in of air. Apparently I've had the
cowboys in (!) and, shaking his head he got down to business.
The apprentice was sent out to the van at two minute intervals,
before toilet-fixit-man announced he was going to change everything
because it was all shit.
I tried to solve
geo-puzzles whilst toilet-fixit-man did his thing, but his constant
stream of invectives was too distracting. I say "distracting";
perhaps "entertaining" might have been closer to the
truth.
After a lot of commotion
toilet-fixit-man loudly announced he needed a piss. I hoped it wasn't
going to be in the sink. It wasn't. It was in the
newly-fixed-all-circuits-go re-fitted chod-bin. It's now got a button
rather than a handle, and my rim needs de-scaling. But it's not
leaking any more. Hopefully. Time will tell; it always does.
It had been suggested
that I might save money by mending the cludgee myself. Judging by the
fight a professional chod-surgeon had on his hands I was glad I
hadn't tried to do so. Despite having been conned out of thousands of
pounds over the loft conversion debacle, I must admit that when it
comes to jobs like this I'm still a great beleiver in paying someone
else to do the job. If nothing else they have the experience. People
who are keen on D.I.Y generally have houses that look as though they
are keen on D.I.Y.
I paid just under a ton
this afternoon; I had two professional toilet-fixers; an hour of
their time, all of their tools, and an entire new set of innards for
the chod-bin. I think that's good value... provided it's stopped
leaking.
I'm off to work now - via
Morrisons for some de-scaler....
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