Dog rescue centres are sad places. Also not very helpful for finding work, as none seem to have their own land. This one was in the ass end of nowhere. There were around 30 dogs. Staffs, Bull-everything, Huskys, Terriers and Whippets. Nothing new then. Most were barking like deranged lunatics, others were playing the sad dog card. One didn't even bother to get up, probably already learnt not to bother. Smart dog. If I were allowed one, I'd have taken him. But I couldn't. Dogs need a permanant address, just like their wolf cousins. Bit like adopting children. Pop out as many as you want, but if you want a stray, it'll take years. No wonder people go to the breeders or Gumtree, where you can get a pet in 10 minutes. But you shouldn't buy puppies. There are enough 'old' dogs looking for homes after people decide they're no longer cute enough [or small enough].
Oz had a conversation with a BMW and now he has a new special feature. I've had meetings with three other cars, and all were BMW 1 series. My subconscious is trying to eradicate them. I'm going to need something stronger than an Astra. Oz never comes out on top.
Cant find a plug anywhere. Mc D's, Costa, Asda cafe, Tesco Cafe even libraries! I need to charge Nexy, he's dying on me and I'm too scared to charge him in the car.
I've come to this side of the planet, so I may as well see the Broads. Well, that was the plan until I realised boats cost £20ph to hire. I don't have £20 spare and I'm certainly not going to pay that much to scare the shit out of myself. I think the water is scary. I'm OK with swimming pools, because I can see what's there and 99.9% of the time, it's another human. Who knows what the hell is swimming around in that water. You couldn't see your hand 6 inches under. Not as bad as the Thames; if I fell in there, I'd let myself drown. I'd never be clean again. So opted for sitting on a bench at Outon Broad, watching the rich fuckers play boat.
As I walked past I saw a man sitting there who looked interesting. He had long black hair with a little beard-thing, tattoos and he was wearing paint stained clothes, looked half homeless and had a mongrel. I wanted to talk to him. When I'd finished I walked past him again, but 10 steps past him, I turned back and decided to talk. Well, I asked to 'borrow your lighter', not that I didn't have 2 in my pocket already. We started chatting. He claimed he had a boat in a village 8 miles away. It is out of the water, as he is restoring it. He invited me to the marina later that evening if I didn't have anything better to do. I didn't. But right now it was 3pm and my parking ticket was running out, so I bid him farewell and drove on.
Drove through a town called Gorrelston - the sole redeeming feature was Wilkinsons, which lost its power as it was opposite Farm Foods. Two ridiculous business names; barber called 'Slashers' and a timber merchant called 'Cushions'. Why?
Yarmouth. Notice the absence of 'Great'. Whomever named it Great Yarmouth was delusional. The most hilarious thing I've seen was the 'Pleasure Beach'. The sign was pale, rusty and falling apart. Comparing the Pleasure Beach to Alton Towers, is like comparing your mothers home-cooked roast dinner, to a pot noodle. They have the audacity to run a monorail around the park, through run down coasters and fading serpent slides. Thankfully further down the beach, it started to 'improve' with a sea life centre and model village. You can even have a horse and carriage ride. And massive pirate mini-golf. It's bloody everywhere mini-golf, every beach has one. I never realised we had such an obsession with mini-golf. Drove down the widest, shittiest road ever. This was the tourist route to the beach. There were no lane markings, even though it has the space for 3-4 lanes. Special features include the definitely no entry sign. As opposed to the traditional no entry sign. The road lead to nowhere other than a boat. And that was Yarmouth.