Baltic Street

I’ve lost a car key which is a right regular pain in the ass. Having left it a week, and with still no sign of it, we drop in at Timpson’s at Cameron Toll where you can get a new one cut or coded or whatever. He can’t do it but I can get an appointment with their automotive man. It’ll be £220 or maybe £350. I decide I’ll have another look. 
But not straight home as the offspring needs food, and urgently. Money too, probably, but that comes with strings which he’s loathe to agree to.
All sorts of other shit happening. People dying in record numbers crossing the channel. Johnson pretending to be a Ferrari at the CBI. A new variant of bloody coronavirus cropping up. Roadworks everywhere. 
Later we watch Gagarine which I may just have been way too snoozy to appreciate fully. I’m an old man! And not just any old old man. A grumpy old man! Cut me some slack!