24 September 2017
Tuesday was the big day last week with a trip to Inverness. Three hours fifteen minutes on a freezing death trap train with only the fleas and the smell of the toilet for company was not ideal but it was better then driving..
The day went well and I was content when I boarded the train home. It was meant to take me all the way to Stonehaven. But it didn’t.
When we got to Aberdeen the nasal twang of the guard came over the intercom “This train has been cancelled due to a trespasser on the line”. Great, so what do I do now?
I disembarked and joined the hundreds of other people standing about in the station. It was not only my train that was cancelled, all trains south were cancelled.
There were a lot of Scotrail staff too, standing in small huddles, their hands in their pockets, busily ignoring all the confused passengers. It was absolute mayhem.
I decided to board the big Virgin. I was sure Mr Branson would see the death of a trespasser as a necessary sacrifice to keep his train running on time.
I found a seat. The tannoy broke the monotony of the wait with lots of fake news announcements about further delays and how the buffet car offered ‘a great choice of drinks and snacks’ before we eventually left.
The guard then make the following announcement. “Ladies and Gentleman. Apologies for the delayed departure. This was due to a FEMALE trespasser on the line. Tsk.” He made no attempt to hide his feelings regarding the gender of the miscreant. These females. They do get everywhere don’t they? Something really should be done!
The only other event worthy of note was at the Fun Factory. During an informal discussion I casually commented on the need to treat people as individuals. Someone with delusions of adequacy responded testily “Other people and you need to understand. Individuals are not important. The firm is important. That is all that matters”. I do hope they don’t step out in front of my car anytime soon. I may decide the brake pedal ‘is not important’.
Later in the month I received a phone call from my mother. She immediately started prevaricating about the state of their lawn and the unpredictability of the dogs bowel movements so I knew she wanted something.
“….Oh, and your dad has decided to give up driving. His eyes are too bad. Can you take him to hospital every Saturday?”
What I wanted to say was “Well as he either turned up hours late or not at all when I was a child leaving me standing in the freezing cold for hours and hours and hours the answer is no. He can bugger off!”
What I actually said was “Of course! No problem at all!”
And so it came to pass I found myself on the way to Arbroath hospital at 7am on Saturday morning. I had my dad next to me giving me his highly detailed forthright opinions on Donald Trump, immigration, Europe and the global warming lie. I could think of few places I’d less like to be.
I had my bike on the roof and a plan to cycle the coastal path to Carnoustie while I waited the five hours for his dialysis to finish.
After dropping him off I did indeed ride from Arbroath to Carnoustie (and back), a journey of around 17 miles. The sun and the tide were both out and it was an absolutely lovely morning. Best of all I had no signs of fatigue.
I went past the golf course where they were setting up for the Alfred Dunhill links championship. I came to the conclusion it wasn’t actually on because there was no-one watching. In addition the fat, sweaty, swearing men zig-zagging their way down the first fairway didn’t look ‘best in class’ to me.
On the way home my Dad requested we ‘nip into Morrisons supermarket’ then promptly disappeared for 45 minutes. He finally emerged with a trolley full of bread, dog food and jumbo hot dog sausages. There are only two of them! And my mother is a vegetarian.
By the time I got home it was 3pm and my exertions had caught up with me. I was in agony. Not that I got any sympathy from the Domestic Manager. She had been helping at a tea and home bake fundraiser at the village hall and was feeling a bit queasy after eating 7lbs of chocolate orange cheesecake.
The missing house key was found and handed in on Wednesday. No idea who found it which is good because if they had been looking for some sort of reward they would have been bitterly disappointed.
While happy to regain possession it was not in the best condition. The fob was really scratched, like a well-travelled suitcase and the DM thought the key was a bit bent.
Being an inanimate object it didn’t go walkabout on it’s own, so where on earth had it been? Had someone spent the last two weeks aggressively fingering it in their pocket? I gave it a feel and a good sniff to see if I could detect anything. The result was inconclusive.
There was a very minor occurrence regarding our neighbour Mr Chav on Monday. The domestic manager went out to her car and bumped into his mother who was jet washing her broomstick in the car park. She visits three times a week to clean his house. This explains a lot especially when you remember he is in his mid-40’s.
She didn’t say a word and instead just stared aggressively. I think something else must had upset her. Perhaps her little prince had managed to undo the knots securing him to her apron strings. The naughty boy!
And as I type I can see Chav boy throwing handfuls of rubbish from his car into the river. Forget that car transporter. Why don’t Greenpeace chain themselves to his bloody door handles? I am sure he does just as much damage to the environment as any lorry. The man is a complete tool.
Anyway on Monday it is exactly 13 weeks until Christmas day. In the shops boxes of chocolates with skulls and zombies battle for space with the same box covered in snow and reindeer. Good to see they cater for both the believers and non-believers.
Murrays Musings 