[Actually, it wasn’t really ghastly…just some bits of it.]
Last night, I received an email from one of our mortgage providers requesting two pieces of information. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, however, the pieces of information were in my office and needed to be scanned.
And so, in a repeat of yesterday, I prepared myself for the trip to the house. The first thing that went wrong was the time that my laptop decided to install updates. I reckon there should be some sort of scheduling function for these things. The laptop should propose a date and time and then just go ahead. Instead, the laptop tends to do it when it’s most inconvenient.
As it turned out, the updates finished just when it was time to leave so, breathing a sigh of relief, I pushed the lid down and left for the bus. The trip in was fine; just the usual. We walked into the house, surprising Clive, particularly when I said I wasn’t really there, unlocked the office and did the scanning without a hitch.
After about 15 minutes (tops) we packed everything up again and left. I’d decided to treat Day-z to a walk through the park and myself to a Starbucks so we set off into Farnham rather than go back to the closest bus stop. This was my biggest mistake.
The walk into town was lovely as was my Starbucks coffee. The day was warm and sunny and everyone in Farnham seemed to be smiling (well, apart from the two resident errors of genetics…but then they never do). I’d checked my app for the time of the next bus and knew I had lots of time to sit and read with a small black poodle on my lap. This was my second mistake…believing the app, not having Day-z on my lap!
Rather than walk to the bus stop in East Street and suffering the narrow footpaths and unpleasant denizens of the Marlborough Head pub, we took a lovely wander down to Gostrey Meadow, planning to catch the bus at the station. Let’s call that mistake number 3.
Just as we reached the corner leading to the bus stop, the bus cruised by us, straight by the stop and off and away before I could raise any protest. I was, to say the least, a bit annoyed. There was nothing I could do but wait an hour for the next one…or was there?
I wandered over to the taxi rank. I’m fairly certain I’ve mentioned how much I dislike the majority of taxis in Farnham. Apart from Carole and Home James, the ones that sit on the rank are awful. Their queuing system is ridiculous and they treat customers like idiots when they don’t understand it. They act all self important when, basically, they’re just offering you a lift in return for some money. Still…needs must.
For a start, there were four taxis sitting on the rank in various positions and four drivers standing around outside of them, smoking, chatting on phones and generally appearing unapproachable. Anyway, I looked at the closest one and asked him if he was next. He nodded (still on his phone) but then shook his head, looking at Day-z.
“What?” I asked, “You won’t take me because of the dog?”
“I’m not allowed to,” He mumbled before returning to his very important phone call.
When I approached another driver, all he’d say was that the other guy was next and not him. I told him that he wouldn’t take my dog and all this driver could do was shrug his shoulders. I said something like “I guess you guys make a lot of money if you can just throw fares away” and left for the bus stop.
Then Day-z had the best idea of the day. She suggested that perhaps it would be better, given we had to wait for almost an hour, that we wait in the beer garden of the Mulberry hotel, just across the road. I told her that was an excellent idea and we left for the bar. The beer was delicious and I was very glad I’d given my money to the pub rather than the crappy taxi driver.
And what did he mean he wasn’t allowed to? Does he work for his mother? Pathetic.
So we managed to catch the next bus (Day-z kept looking out for it and tapping me every time something bigger than a car went by) and were back at the cottage at about 2:15 for a very late lunch.
I guess the highlight of my day was seeing a woman out walking with her dog on the cricket ground. Rather than a whistle or a treat or a ball, she was blowing bubbles to attract his attention. Whenever he wandered too far away, she’d blow a fresh batch and he’d come flying back, trying to bite them out of the air. It was very funny and quite original.
And, just in passing, I’d like to mention that the colour mauve was invented by an 18 year old called William Perkin (later to become ‘Sir’) in 1856. Doesn’t that brighten your day? It did mine.