Friday, August 13, 2004
Oh huzzah.
Not only have I spent the day with any nearby wall pulsating, whilst being very tired and absolutely clueless as to what time it is (getting up at 3:30am to catch the tide yesterday - don't do it kids), but now I've been offered a slight adjustment to work, which entails me starting work at 6am for the next few months (it was either that or starting at 2pm and running late into the night). I'm not sure I actually even want this newer job, but it's money I suppose.
And of course all people starting the new system have to do so on Wednesday. Which is right in the middle of my cunningly extended holiday.
And I just phoned to confirm it.
Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger.
It's for the best really.
I'm sure I won't be saying that when I'm running late at 5:30am, and it's bloody well dark.
And of course it does sound mind-numbingly boring.
Anyone got a life they wouldn't mind swapping? I've got one going: socially inept male, who doesn't get out enough, and worries people when he does. Has a history of making a mess of things, but pretending it isn't happening until it's too late. Disorganised dyslexic, who doesn't like asking for help (and gets very annoyed when he finally does and then doesn't get any). Probably prone to bouts of depression, but see the ignoring problems thing above.
Sorry for not being happy, but I'm tired, and realising that I don't want to do this, but the moment I don't have a choice. Maybe it might make me annoyed enough that I get round to pissing off to Australia for a year or something. Or maybe I'll still see that option as running away, with the added advantage of being back where you started in a year's time, with nothing to show for it [not that I'm gathering "show for it" points at the moment, but that might change, said he kidding himself for the 3rd year running].
And it just bloody well rained heavily, and my washing's out.
And how's this for an omen. Next week I start having to be up insanely early. I haven't been able to find my watch all day, and my body clock is screwed.
The only bright spot of my day was shopping in Sainsbury's and being flirted with by the checkout cashier (who was literally checking me out). Shame he was male. [Note to self. Do not be seen buying quiche, especially not when loose-limbed with tiredness].
The quiche was both reduced and on multibuy, so they worked at a pound each, because the offer-reduction is already preset into the computers, so buying reduced stuff on offer can be very cheap - there was one occasion when they paid me to buy two pizzas. (Someone reputedly used the same technique to make £50 on bananas in Tesco's. Tesco's were less than pleased by this, especially as he cleared there entire stock, and then dumped it outside the front door, with a big label saying "Free").
And speaking of people who know a good deal when they see one: an article in the Daily Telegraph about the RAF's new guns [free registration might be required].
Also from the Telegraph [I was looking up my brother's Cowes Week results, ok? And yes I do know what that sentence sounds like] - Presenting Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit. Starring Mr McGregor, the gardener; Peter Rabbit, the mischievous bunny; Flopsy, his sister; Mopsy, another sister; and Cottontail, the twisted firestarter.
Though checking the spelling of McGregor lead me to this. And now I'm back in a happy state of child-like innocence (though I always thought Peter got away lightly).
Completely unrelated (well I didn't see any rabbits): Cas-Av published (while I was away) a set of pictures of the Millennium Dome, which look remarkably like the ones I took when I wandered around there at the end of July (well they would, wouldn't they?). Go and check them out, and see what you make of them [meaning I still haven't done the write up].
[Remembering there's still washing sitting in the machine, thus disappearing]
Anyhoo,
