White Room

We headed off to Chichester. Traffic was slow and mindless idiots queued back from every filling station in anticipation of a strike which is at least 7 days away (if it happens at all). After all, these fuel tanker drivers are so hard done by – driving up and down our motorways for £45k a year. (At this point the Gorse Fox would point out that our fuel tanker drivers in the Army drive around in Afghanistan for £17k per year).

We also learned of a woman who was decanting petrol between containers, in her kitchen. She is blaming the Ministers because the petrol vapour exploded and left her with 40% burns. Will nobody take responsibility for their own utter stupidity any more?

Once in Chichester we met with GF’s sister and brother-in-law for some coffee and then as b-i-l went off to visit some clients, we pottered around the shops, then headed along to show nano-sister where we were planning to move. After lost of ooohs and aaaahs we then headed to an industrial unit near Ford Open Prison where a chap specialises in furniture built in a New England style – this was just sumptuous and gave lots of ideas for what we could do.

At the Oyster Catcher we stopped off for dinner – and coincidentally bumped into Urban-cub and Pistol Pete. Had a lovely evening.