Sometimes you see a site and realise that some people on t’internet are very, very, very strange.

This is one of those sites.

Yesterday, I went to see my GP. Never my favourite way to spend time – I’m no fan of GPs at the best of times, and always go in expecting them to say “Oh, well, there’s not actually much we can do about that.”

In this case, I’ve whacked an existing scar, and opened it up again. Nothing special – it’s a fragile piece of skin, from the look of it, which is something my mother also has issues with – but more of an exploratory “Any suggestions on a) doing stuff to improve healing time on this? and b) preventing it in the future?” kind of thing. And I got exactly the expected answer. (But at least I know that for sure now)

Anyway, at the same time, the GP decided to check my blood pressure. This is one of the things that never fails to amuse me – considering I’m 6’4″ and distinctly overweight (although having now lost a stone from earlier this year) they always expect to give me a lecture on blood pressure. Bear in mind I’m rather known to be of the ranty persuasion as well, and they think it’s a no-brainer, which all goes to explain why they can never believe what it actually is.

In this case, the GP decided he’d done something wrong the first time, and checked it again.

But it still came out as 100/60. Which is ridiculously healthy and normal for someone of my dimensions and lifestyle.  I don’t know how I manage it, but that’s pretty much what my blood pressure always works out to be.

Strange but true – and always fun to bemuse a GP with it.

There are times where I am a complete twat.  This evening was one of those times.

Part of the reason I’m doing a really stupid week of driving and travelling is because I thought it was this week for the meeting of the local camera club we formed following on from the NCFE course. Which was tonight.

Except, um, it wasn’t. You see, there’s another Tuesday still to come in September. Which means that…

1. I’m a twat
2. My mental calendar is at least a week out of kilter.
3. I’m a twat, and don’t know what day it is.

On the way home last night, I witnessed what was so nearly a fatal accident – and only wasn’t fatal because of the 50/50 chance of which way the man fell.

On the roundabout for A12/North Circular, a cement mixer came round too close to the kerb, and hit a cyclist. For once (so far as I could tell) the cyclist had been doing the right thing, hadn’t jumped a red light or anything (somewhat miraculous in itself) and the driver of the cement mixer had just come too close to the kerb.

I don’t know how, but the pushbike went under the wheels, and the rider came off onto the pavement. If he’d gone the other way, it would’ve been strawberry-jam time. As it was, the guy then stood up and was fine. The driver of the cement mixer was pretty shocked about the entire thing (with good reason) but it was all just so incredibly lucky that it wasn’t far, far worse.

A couple of other closer witnesses had already stopped to sort things out, so I buggered off past – I wouldn’t have been able to give any more information, or provide any assistance, so I’d have just been in the way.

All the same, it does make you think about the tiny things that lead to a difference between dead and alive…

This week is looking like it might turn out to be Not Fun.

I’ve got some pre-existing bookings during the week (I wasn’t expecting the contract to extend…) which means I’m working in the office on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. This means that I’m going to be driving in to the office instead of using public transport. And I suspect that will not be fun.  It’s likely to be at least two hours each way – although I’ve done drives like that for work before, and at least I will have a break between each one, rather than doing three or five days on the trot, which would leave me looking like a stunned monkey by Wednesday (as it did when I did that for a week down to Basildon last year)

Needless to say, on those days the blogging content might be a bit thin on the ground.

Still, it’s only three days.  And then one more week entirely in London. And then I’m done.

The same Tesco carpark as my previous post about arsewit parking, but this time it’s just *so* much more impressive.  In this case, I’ve left the bell-end’s number-plate in view too. Screw it, parking like this needs to be recorded and credited to the correct knob-head.

Of course, it just had to be a BMW driver, didn’t it?

So bad it's hard to believe

Yep, not even just half-over the line – but parked up in a completely hatched off zone right next to the pedestrian crossing.

In this case I can’t deny it, I went in and spoke to the staff about it – the driver got a telling-off from them too. Seems fair to me.