On the Warpath

For some reason I've been in most excellent grumpy form today. I motored into central Belfast this morning, finding a space in Upper Arthur Street; and strode up Music-Hall Lane, taking a right turn towards Ross's auction-house. Its upstairs sale-room is closed today, so no joy there.

So far, so good. I ambled in to the Bank of Sandtander - or is it called the Abbey Bank? - in Donegall Square East, in order to procure a fistful of bank-notes for Euros. The Abbey still issues Bank of Ireland notes: Why so? To my mind they ought to be issuing Bank of England notes, since they are not the Bank of Ireland. I got Bank of England notes for pocket-money at the Halifax bank in Donegall Square North.

I got my Euros in Marks and Spencer; and they are shrewd enough to be selling their beach-towels opposite the currency kiosk! I returned a towel I had purchased for £19 last week; and, instead, bought a blue "beach towel" at a fraction of the cost - £4.88 - which is like velour and considerably lighter than the last one.

Motoring home via Chichester Street, near Gloucester House, the road had obviously been dug up and shoddily filled in by some unknown contractor. Why, oh why, does the Roads Disservice tolerate this bad workmanship from irresponsible contractors? On behalf of the Taxpayer, surely they ought to compel the contractor to repair the road to the same standard as before?

Personally I'd make them re-surface the entire stretch of road, since they are clearly incapable of anything else; or the roads disservice could do it themselves and invoice whoever dug it up in the first place.

My Radio Times is late this week. It normally arrives by post on Tuesdays. The cause? Industrial action by Royal Mail workers, one presumes.