time flies when you're having fun

Or not. Unsure what happened with this week, but it has passed and here is another Sunday. Work continues to suck and there are a number of us thinking we are subject to some trial-by-boredom, while others await each decree from the mother ship, fairly sure it will be even more barmy than the last. I find myself with an arse-cheek in both camps. But the rivers still flow and the sun still rises and it could be a whole lot worse.

To enliven the week I searched out more caches, looking on the way from and to work and on my lunch time runs. I managed to find a few, knocking off pretty well all but one of those I pass when going door-to-door. Said it before and I'll say it again, geeky fun.

Saturday was an unmitigated cache hunting disaster in an otherwise ordinary day. Neither Sal nor I got much sleep on Friday night. We were staying on the NSW Central Coast, at the in-laws home, ad we were under strict instructions to not allow the dogs inside the house. Rumpoe made his howling displeasure known regularly through the night. I was knackered by day break, Sal was knackered and ropeable. To allow her time to get a few more hours sleep I took Rowlf for a long walk.

A very long walk. He is almost a year old, and although I am not running with him yet I am starting to up the distances we walk. Yesterday I was planning to run across the Ridgeway as a warm up for the City to Surf. Instead I walked the big lump. By the time we got to Terrigal he was nowhere near knackered.

That despite the distance being a little over 18km. So after a quick coffee we headed for the beach, Sal and Rumpole having joined us, and we went for a swim.

Yesterday was the shortest day of the year here in the south. Winter. Every so often you need to be told something like that. When you see blue skies and me with my shirt off on a beach you may not work it out. Winter indeed! It was a little parky this morning, but winter is a bit tame here.

Another boring post, I should come back when I've got something to moan about. Best clarify my cache-hunting disaster mention. I only failed to find one that I looked for. Up on top of the Skillion in Terrigal. The disappointment was tempered by seeing a whole load of whales. They were on the annual northerly migration, but a bit too far from each other for me to call it a pod; I have no idea how far apart whales can be spaced and yet still regarded as a pod. Nor if there is a minimum number to be a pod. So maybe it was a pod..anyway, I failed to find that cache, but it was a bit busy and I had Rowlf who does draw a crowd.

Earlier, crossing the Ridgeway, we had passed 'No Dogs' signs that kept me from hunting for another couple...though the signs were not what stopped me entereing the Kantanda Reserve. No, I stopped because there was a large lsatian up ahead and no owner to be seen. And very early I failed to look for one in Niagara Park that is on a railway station (I think) because there was someone waiting for a train. I could have gone back later, but after failing to into the in-laws house upon our return (they are away, our keys spontaneously stopped working) we headed home.

I do, actually, have somethign to moan about. Central Coast dog owners, at least those living along the route I walked yesterday, are an iffy bunch of dog owners. I guess they have a different worliew to us townies. No footpaths means no dog walkers which means your dog is likely to stay on your large property. Of course this all falls to bits when a dog walker does walk past, as I did yesterday. Several dogs ran out from open gates, some into and some across a road that people hammer over. Luckily there were no fatalities, and double luckily I am probably the only person likely to do the Ridgeway walk...but dog ownership 101 says you have a secure, fenced property. If you are on an acreage, at least make sure you have the road facing gate fenced...fairly minor whinge really.

I could whinge more about the tight stomach I suffered last night or the gastro it became this morning. Bu it is neither interesting nor gross enough to make good reading, so I'll go back to sulking on the sofa.