I’ve had the call for my next hospital procedure, and this one is even scarier than the last one. And it isn’t even just one procedure, it’s three. First there’s a trip for a pre-op because the last one has expired, and then another trip for a Covid swab test followed by three days of complete isolation, and finally the business itself. And if that all goes well (which is the scary part) I’ll be told that I mustn’t drive for four weeks. The nearest grocery store is seven miles away, there’s no public transport, I really don’t fancy taxis because coronavirus infections are shooting up at the moment, and I have no practical support. How can I not drive for four weeks?
And today the dear ol’ boys at Google decided to force their new blog interface on me. You know how much I like my stats, don’t you? I do like my stats. With the old interface the details were tidily placed and easily accessible with the minimum of navigation. Now they’re sloppily strewn all over the place and it’s a right bloody pain. I ask myself yet again why those who control our lives, and especially our technology, do so love to mend things which aren’t broken. Why do they insist on crowing about how much they’re improving my life when they’re actually making it more difficult? Why is it that the real glitches which do need mending get left un-addressed for months or even longer? I wish I knew. Or maybe I don’t.
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Last night I was woken up by a very loud grunting noise which seemed to have come from outside my bedroom door. It was really quite spooky, so I considered what I should do about it. Being unable to think of a reasonably rational explanation, I decided to go back to sleep rather than open the door. It seemed the more sensible option.
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