How I spent my day off

As I noted yesterday, I went to visit two old chums, one of whom is an entrepreneur and the other of whom, like me, is an ISO9001 auditor. We want to see if we can get a "quality system" offering together to sell to companies. The first depressing thought, however, is that the only conditions under which companies are willing to buy this type of service are "fire sales"--your business is going to hell in a handbasket and you need help, fast. Doesn't endear one to the business owner. But we had a profitable time brainstorming and coming up with things to do and people to see. We had lunch in a traditional pub with a traditional very low 6' 4" ceiling and traditional loos (eg, slimy floors and pastel sinks cribbed from some cowboy plumber's rejects). The traditional food, however, was quite traditionally good.

Transport, as it always is, was the main problem. I sauntered to London Bridge, bought my tickets, and got on the platform. I had about 15 minutes to spare. However, a stalled train at New Cross did us in. After about 1/2 hour and a platform change, we were off. I had to sit next to an obnoxious tourist and her husband, who had strategically blocked entry to the empty seat with their "carry-on" luggage, er, steamer trunk. Unfazed by that, I moved the trunk and sat down. They were not best pleased and spent the rest of their trip to Gatwick Airport muttering in Danish about the boorish Brit who had stolen their empty seat. I hope they missed their plane. Of course, after that, I deserved the almost empty train on which I returned to London Bridge. Was amused by the group of people who got on at East Croydon: the "Lunar House" crowd who deal with immigrants and asylum seekers. One was crowing about how he was about to leave and what a relief it would be. I was waiting for startling admissions about their work, but they spent the rest of their time criticising the guy who was leaving on his rather love-em-and-leave-em attitude toward romance.

Tomorrow, back to the usual salt mine.

These four-day weekends are turning into shorter variations of the two-day weekend I've grown to dislike over the years. I look forward to the day when I can have a seven-day weekend. Preferably someplace warm. And with HWMBO as well.

The rat--six feet under

Unfortunately, we've had a mouse problem for yonks. The exterminator came last year and left boxes of bait, and the mouse presence seemed to decline. However, a few days ago I found the boxes spread all over the floor. I thought, "We have a rat--no mouse could move those boxes that far." However, I didn't see any other clues to his whereabouts. Previously, if we left a loaf of bread out on top of the fridge, when we got up in the morning a tunnel would be eaten through the wrapper and into the loaf. We now keep bread in the microwave or in the fridge, and that seems to work. But evidence of mice seems to turn up regularly. I didn't want to say anything to HWMBO as he's very squeamish about rats and mice.

This evening we were finishing our evening chores and HWMBO, who had bought some mooncake for the September festival, suggested we have 1/4 mooncake each and a cup of tea while we watched Six Feet Under. As I went to fill the kettle, I looked down at the floor, and saw, next to the door into the garden, a middling-large rat. It didn't move, it wasn't waving its tail or anything. HWMBO said, "He's dead!" but when I made a noise, it slowly turned its head to look at me. It was as if it were asking to be let out of the house.

We got a shoebox, dropped it over the rat, and opened the door, pushed the box out into the garden, and shut the door quickly. The rat obviously had eaten some of the bait, as he was bleeding and couldn't stand up or walk around very well. We watched him totter around a while, but he was too big to drop a stone on and I wasn't happy to try to pick him up and drown him, as I do with mice caught in the sticky traps we have around. I suppose we could get a cat, but I'm not very comfortable with taking responsibility for yet another cat. I've had three or four, and two dogs, and I think that my pet-experiencing days are about over.

I just looked out the back window again, and the poor rat is still moving a bit. I do hope it expires overnight. While I don't want to inflict unnecessary pain on any animal, a foot long (tip of nose to tip of tail) rat is not something I wish to have in my house. And the mental picture of the rat slowly turning its head to look at me as if asking to be let out of the house will probably figure very prominently in my dreams tonight.