I’m in the doghouse after yesterday’s post. Julia is not happy with me for revealing details of my abysmal standards of nasal etiquette – “letting the whole world know you’re full of unpleasant habits” as she put it.
This is a complete over-reaction because I have, at best, let a couple of dozen people know. And by the law of averages there are probably one or two who aren’t averse to a spot of clandestine nasal probing. It’s also likely, after reading several posts that those two dozen readers aren’t really under any illusions about my lack of social graces.
Sutton on Sea
She’s definitely wrong about one thing though – I have plenty of room for new unpleasant habits.
I also have plenty of room in my wallet. The garage rang today – my deflating tyre is not merely unseated, the sidewall is damaged and I have to buy a new one. I haven’t had it that long, and was planning on it lasting a good while longer.
There is a small grey cloud hanging over my head as I write this.
We had a policeman call this morning. He was returning the flash drive we had let them have with CCTV footage of the robbery on. It was contained in three plastic bags – one for travel to the station and storage, one for travel back to the shop and one I’m not sure about. That’s a lot of plastic in a world which is generally trying to cut back.
They can, as we already knew, do nothing to catch the robbers. This isn’t CSI and the science does not quite work like it does on TV. And, to be honest, the police don’t work like they do on TV. Nobody, as far as I know, tried tracing the getaway car on traffic cameras, because robbery from a closed shop isn’t a priority.
A bit like filling in potholes in Lincolnshire.
Dogs at Sutton on Sea