Author: 6000

Postponed and cancelled

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More things postponed and cancelled thanks to this seemingly never-ending winter.

Our Robben Island trip is off. 5.6m swells on Friday afternoon mean that there will be no boats going to or from the Island that day or over the weekend.

We’ll try again in October.

Both family (not me and not me) riding lessons were cancelled this weekend because of the stormy conditions.

Sticking with the equine theme, tomorrow’s race meeting at Durbanville – which we had plans to attend – has been called off. 32mm of rain in 48 hours is their reasoning, but that doesn’t seem like a lot really. We had more than double that in the back garden, and I haven’t cancelled any horse racing.

There are still some things which have gone ahead:

Dodgeball training. It’s indoors, see? That’s why I’m in my car park right now.

Mrs 6000’s Flower Walk in the West Coast National Park:

A great success, it seems, despite the flowers “not being as good as last year”. Why would you tell this year’s attendees that, though?

Little Miss 6000’s tour along the Garden Route:

If anything, the stunning snow on the mountains, captured here by their teacher, surely enhanced the trip out East.

Anyway, it looks like I’m at home for the rest of the week now, so the bar should be finished by the weekend. Silver linings and all that.

Bar

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12 hours sleep last night. Something I never needed before Covid.

Not that I’m sick. Just need some sleep. 12 hours of it, apparently.

Much work and good progress on the bar today. Curtains, furniture, the last of the skirting boards, even a picture. It’s getting there.

Tonight: some well-deserved European footy in front of the fire.

There’s a problem with the Rugby World Cup app.

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Not a big deal, but something I can’t believe they’ve let slip through. Here’s a bit of the opening screen:

Pretty good result for Romania against the world number one team, you might think.

Then you click though.

Oh.

Same with Italy and Namibia…

A fine win for the African underdogs. Except that it actually finished 52-8 to Italy.

Look, this isn’t huge, no-one is going to die, it’s not the end of the world. But in a sport which, more often than not, ends with at least one side getting into double figures, I can’t believe that they’re chosen a font which doesn’t allow for… well… double figures, on the official app for the biggest event in their calendar.

Bit crap.

I read a thing

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I read a thing. I can’t bring myself to admit upon which website I read this thing, because it’s deeply, deeply embarrassing. Think Daily Mail (see 6000 miles… passim), but maybe – somehow – even worse.

I know, right?

Anyway, my reason for being on this site was genuine enough. Simply to marvel at the bizarre and desperate opinions of one of the columnists, having spotted an excerpt on a rather cryptic link on social media. And yes, the opinions were pretty awful, the piece was unnecessarily vindictive and unpleasant, and it made me feel that my time in hoping that I was probably going to read some hateful rubbish, wasn’t wasted. I probably got some endorphins from (rightfully) feeling that my opinions on that subject (and probably every other subject) were better than theirs, too.

Then I made an error and I clicked on a link. It took me to another opinion piece on the same site – equally obsequious and obnoxious – but at least this one had an amusing paragraph in the middle:

I like to think that I am a pleasant enough house-guest. Often when going to stay with friends I ask if there is anything I can bring that my hosts don’t have in their neck of the woods. When visiting friends in Scotland, for example, I might offer to take with me some fresh fruits or vegetables. When visiting friends in Norfolk, it might be someone not related to them. But if ever my hosts suggested I should bring my own poop bucket, I would find a way to escape the event: call in sick, cite a spot of ‘the old trouble’ or remind them that getting out of London is always so difficult.

Because whatever your idea of fun might be, it cannot possibly include a scenario in which you carry a bucket of your own stools. Even the most ardent readers’ letters will not persuade me otherwise. On this matter I am strict.

I’m not sure it needs context. It’s probably even funnier without.

But then I’ve been inwardly giggling at a very childish London Underground pun all morning after our Curry Club dinner last night, so I’m clearly in a very silly mood.

But silly or not, I won’t be visiting that website again.

I’ll take the bus

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No issue with differently-abled people in the workplace. Delighted to embrace the idea, in fact.
We can all benefit from learning from each other.

But there has to be a line drawn somewhere, surely?

I’m not 100% sure that’s actually Braille underneath – there doesn’t seem to be enough letters, and some of them – the “o” in lounge, for example – don’t exist in the Braille alphabet. But maybe there are international versions of Braille and maybe the spelling is for a language wot iz forrun. Maybe the Pilot Lounge has nothing to do with actual pilots and is just a lounge with a fancy name.

More likely than any of these things though: maybe I’m overthinking this a lot.