Grumpy

Well, here's a strange thing. An eleven hour shift at work, but it contained nothing fun, so it dragged. If something goes to eleven hours at my place of employment, it usually means that something good has happened; that we have to extend our shift to deal with the unexpected stuff that has happened, deal with bad guys, process their ill gotten gains that we have encountered. Not today folks. Oh no, here I am on light duties specifically forbidden to lift anything more taxing than a stapler. Today, I was mooching around the office managing the contractors while my office is rebuilt, and stayed until the end. Frankly, not my idea of a good time. So in total defiance of orders, spent a good fifteen minutes chucking heavy gash-bags in the skip. Ah, that's better.

The day started with a good fight though. As I was mooching out of the door in the direction of the mirthmobile, the distinct sound of a certain familiar Tomcat enjoying a serious scrap came to the ears, followed by the growling, mewing sounds of a two-cat standoff. On the other side of the street, I could see him eyeballing Foul Ginger in no uncertain style. Judging from the way he strutted back into the house with his tail up, I think he won. I think he'd have liked to have been waving his todger at FG if I hadn't have had him done a few years back. For those that know the G-dude, you know an arrogant struting Gizmo in full sail is indeed a sight to behold.

The day ended in a pretty decent way, although I'm bloody tired and frankly a little cranky tonight, which doesn't do a lot of good for dealing with people, sorry about that. I seem to be slipping into my nocturnal body clock, so early shift is not suiting me one little bit, and I'm sat here at gone midnight with the creative bits of my brain just waking up, which is more than can be said for the rest of me that passed out on the sofa a while back. There's a bunch of housey stuff I must do, a lot of storage and organisation I must do but when I'm lumbered with doing accommodation for eleven hours at the fun factory, I find I'm not at all inclined to touch the stuff here with an fifteen foot pole. Shame. But, this school reunion thing that's being mooted seems to have set a ball rolling; received courtesy of FU a very cool email from an old school and social buddy, so that's a pretty good conclusion to a pants day. Welcome back to the addressbook, Shel',

Oh and shall we get the Jeremy Beadle jokes out of the way now? "Beadle's NOT about". "His cremation's going to be televised - you've been flamed". "On the one hand that's a really big news story. On the other hand not so big". "The vicar'll take his false beard off and reveal..... ". "£250 for a tape of the event". "Jeremy Beadle's cock is tiny. On the other hand it's massive". Hey ho. His shows weren't to my taste, but by all accounts he was actually a top bloke, very sharp and well read. Probably more of a loss than some of late. Hey, who's going to write the quiz in the Indy's Saturday mag?