I often wonder, do banks really DESERVE to have a holiday? Considering the mess many of them got into in 2008 (I may have got the year wrong.) when the government bailed them out with taxpayer's money, THEY should be paying US!
Sunday. 11.35 a.m. We haven't had a proper church service for a few weeks now, because it's August, and the thinking is that, as most people will be away on holiday, there's really no sense in full service. Last week we had a community picnic and this week we have the famous church barbecue. I have made up a salad and done a few baked potatoes, which I put in the oven at around 6.30 this morning. I had gone to Sainsbury's yesterday after another of our prayer triplet sessions at a friend's home in Conniburrow. I then realized, when I got home, that I should have got something to drink to take with me. I drove to the Tesco Express store in Oldbrook Boulevard. Because of social distancing, you are supposed to follow a one-way system around the store. I picked up what I wanted and then made my way to the check-out, going to a manned till because there was someone using the self-service tills. I arrived at the back of a reasonably long queue and for some reason wasn't sure who was queuing. Then a young man let rip at me, accusing me of pushing in. Untrue, but he was adamant that I had. He continued to rant at me, using bad language which I won't repeat here. I thought he was going to end up hitting me, so I stood back. Then he hurled a packet of sweets or chocolates at me and then stormed off out of the store, continuing to rant and rave. It left me feeling somewhat shocked, and I think the same could be said of the rest of the customers who were queuing ahead of me. I have a feeling he was probably from a residential home nearby, probably with a severe type of learning disability or another mental health issue. Which made me wonder why he was allowed out on his own.
Monday. 11.00 a.m. So, Bank Holiday Monday! It's not exactly a baking hot day. Drizzling when I took out Alfie earlier. I'm not doing a lot, just pottering around. His Nibs is asleep on the sofa as I write this.
I had another odd dream last night. I know, most dreams are odd. I have mentioned before in these blog posts my time working in stage management and on one particular play I was A.S.M. on at Greenwich Theatre some fifty years ago, 'A Voyage Round My Father', written by John Mortimer. In the dream, I had a visit from his wife (not sure of her name.) She wanted to give me a copy of a book John Mortimer had written (I have no idea of its title.) and I told her about working on the play. She signed the book, and that was all. Strange, particularly as I haven't been thinking of that play or anything to do with it recently. Mortimer also wrote the Rumpole stories and television series, which I love.
Tuesday. 4.10 p.m. I am currently working on a sort of subplot for my writing project. I wouldn't call it a fantasy as such, but as my main character is a writer it's a sort of spoof of a genre of writing very much inspired by 'The 39 Steps' by John Buchan. I have always loved the Hitchcock version, which veers off course from the original story to a large extent. I watched the BBC television version which seems to stick to the original to some extent then uses some of Hitchcock's ideas and then changes the ending, what exactly are the titular 39 Steps? It seems as if each version has different suggestions, but it's one of those films and stories which is the blueprint of many later espionage thrillers.
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