It tastes horrible

Dad is having a bit of a problem with a tooth at the moment and as he can't get an appointment at the dentist's until the end of next week, I suggested that he rinse his mouth with diluted TCP in case of infection.
"Well, I have done that a couple of times but it tastes so horrible," he complained.
I reminded him of the times in my very early years when I was regularly dosed with syrup of figs and - worse - Milk of Magnesia, all because I was one of those unfortunate beings who are not 'regular'. (I won't elaborate on this in case you are of a delicate disposition. Suffice it to say, I spent half my early childhood being strongly encouraged to be 'regular'.)
"So, I'm afraid I have no sympathy," I said, grimly.
He laughed.


Self-service? No thanks!

I noticed the other week in Sainsbury's that some self-service tills have made a sneaky appearance, which didn't bother me too much as I had no intention of using them.
"Are those...?"
"They're self-service tills," the assistant rudely interupted me in a bored way which made it sound as if she had been asked the question ten million times before, which possibly she had, but there was no need to be so rude.
The next week I noticed that the 'Baskets only' tills had been axed to make way for them, which I was rather annoyed about as they are very useful if you have only popped in for a few items (extra cake for Keith, for instance) and don't want to be stuck in a lengthy queue behind someone who has bought the whole shop and then some and wants to pay for it with their life-collection of pennies.
So with rather bad grace, I took my basket to an ordinary till and prepared to wait, only to be accosted by a 'customer service assistant' who did her utmost to persuade me to give the new till a try.
"No thanks," I said politely. Her persistence indicated that she wanted a reason for my refusal, so eventually I gave it to her.
"When I come shopping," I said, "I like some degree of service. I already have to go round the store and pick the items I want and then lug them all out to the car, but I don't think it's too much to ask for someone to actually scan the shopping for me and take the money. Oh and it's quite nice when they offer to pack it for me, which happens less and less these days."
She smiled and backed away and went to help the queue building up at the self-service tills which seemed to be having teething problems.



Ghosts?

He's full of surprises, that dog of ours. On our walk today, he barked and tried to lunge at two very well behaved boxers for no apparent reason except that they were there and then, five minutes later, walked past a huge black dog, barking furiously at him as if he didn't exist. But the really puzzling moment came a few minutes later when we were back on the road. He stopped dead, stared intently across the road and began growling. Paddy never growls. If he sees a cat or a squirrel, he whines but never growls at them or even barks. However, this time, try as I might, I could see absolutely no sign of an animal or even person anywhere in sight. You see what I'm saying here? We were alone, completely and utterly alone.
But Paddy kept on growling, rooted to the spot until I began to haul him off down the road. Reluctantly, very reluctantly, he allowed himself to be moved but all the way down the hill, he kept stopping to look behind him as if there was someone or something following us.
In the end, even I began to get twitchy.
It had to be a ghost - but a person or an animal?
Welcome to the Welsh Twilight Zone...... Be afraid, be very afraid.

Plaster board and dust

So, we're still no further forward on the British Gas smart meter front and I've given up making non-existent appointments with them...