The last couple of days at work before a holiday are usually a bit hectic, but it is made more so when you are determined not to work at home and the office is only open from eight in the morning to six in the evening due to Covid-19. Add in trying to finish off a war and peace process document and new functionality going to a live pilot on my main job on the Thursday and it’s been worse than ever. But with ten minutes to spare I put the out of office on and escaped for sixteen days of freedom. Lockdown is being relaxed (apart from in Leicester) and we are going to escape the county. Can’t wait.
Sniffles has taken it upon himself to want to get run over by our car. After last week’s effort, he tried again today. I came down the close and went to turn, only for Sniffles to appear out of a front garden and in front of the car, where he laid down in the middle of the road. I edged forward and he retreated enough for me to get past and looked up at me as if to say “what?” There were no parking spaces, so I turned and came back down to the other end of the close, and he ran out of a front garden and in front of the car again. I eventually squeezed past without flattening him and got parked. As I walked back to the house Sniffles ran towards me meowing; being of sound mind I meowed back and we exchanged meows until getting to the front door, at which point he tried tripping me up so he could get in the house ahead of me.
The flies seem to prefer Whiskas more than Sniffles; it would appear to be the perfect spot for them to lay their eggs. And they are prolific MFs. In a couple of hours there were more eggs than Whiskas in Sniffles’ bowl. We probably end up throwing more away than the profligate little cat eats. Charlie always looks disappointed when the fly eggs ruined food goes in the bin, as if to say “I can eat that”. Yes, you probably would you woofy tw@t, and we know it would do you no good whatsoever.
We had started to clean up the borrowed fire pit last Sunday night, but the embers were still hot enough to melt straight through the bin bag. A couple of days of drizzle had cooled tem off enough to be thrown away, and then a downpour came and it wasn’t so much a fire pit as a paddling pool out there. It finally made it back to its owners Thursday night.
I’d put some biltong strips in my bag to take to work. They were double wrapped in a paper bag, put in the bottom of my rucksack, up on a chair behind the kitchen table. Having ignored them all night, between coming back from a walk and being left having breakfast and Helen going back less than five minutes later, Charlie had got the rucksack on the floor, opened it, got the paper back out, got inside both layers and he was finishing the remnants of one biltong strip (chili and garlic laden) and looking to start on the next. Somehow, the biggest idiot dog going had suddenly become a winning contestant on the effing Krypton Factor.
So, on the Saturday morning the pubs were opening from six in the morning, and the desperate alcoholics were queuing because they were opening earlier than the offies or supermarkets. Meanwhile Helen had gone to Primark where the queues might have been there for six days, and were close to six miles long. After that going to the pub would seem like a good idea.
Helen’s sister Julie had come over on the Saturday ready for the Taylor’s day on the beach at West Wittering on the Sunday. Whilst they were there I went into downtown Crawley and did some shopping. I got some new comfortable Asics and some Velcro fastened Lonsdale trainers and socks from Sports Direct, some maps from Waterstones, and doughnuts from the stall outside (how I missed hot sugar ring doughnuts from my top 50 foods I’ll never know). Then I got abuse from a woman because she was too stupid to notice the big signs on the pavement and so was walking against the flow of people on the left hand side. I just hope she doesn’t drive.
On their way out at before eight in the morning Helen had seen people going into the Downsman. It was still really busy twelve hours later when I went to pick up a takeaway curry from there that evening.
Monday morning finally came and with it a haircut. Jeez, how much better does that feel? I no longer look like the Widman of Borneo. Time to pack as off up north now, well, as soon as Helen’s finished working that is.
I may have spoken too soon. The trip up north was nearly over before it began. On the way back from getting the brake light fixed I was away with the fairies and totally missed the fact there was another mini roundabout on Ifield Road and nearly ploughed straight into a car coming from the right. If their car hadn’t had been red then I doubt I’d have slammed on the brakes and steered up on the grass bank. It took a while for my pulse to return to normal after that, I can tell you.
It was mid-afternoon when we set off, we were stopping at Stafford overnight, and that is covered in its own piece.
But, as you go on your travels you don’t realise how people have scattered over the years, and so you don’t realise how close to people you know you are going to be when staying somewhere. Last year I wasn’t more than a few miles away from my cousin and uncle; this year in Stafford it’s close to two people I used to work with in Leicester, as they both commented on my Facebook check in for dinner.
We got to my mum’s Tuesday evening, and managed to survive for over an hour without getting force fed. Wednesday is going to be covered more fully in another piece, and consisted of pottering about during the day around Morecambe, Lancaster and Heysham.
