Return to the fairground

Ah well, all good things must end. No more watching Top Gear repeats and getting paid for it. The quack will no more give me time to burn, and I must don the uniform again and make my way towards the coast again at stupid o'clock before even the milkman's out and about. Hey ho.

As days at the fun factory go, it wasn't a bad one. I'm still on limp wristed nancyboy chores (light duties, to those with no sense of fun in their language), and it's amusing watching management spin themselves into a circle working out what I can do and what I can't, while the Occupational Health Specialist provides useless advice working from a model based for nine to five desk workers, and my doctor proves very very effective at sitting on the fence and refusing to commit himself on the subject, in case they sue his arse if I kark it. Good fun. The boss is up to standard; within five seconds of saying "welcome back", he deposited a steaming great turd of a job on my desk that needed to be sorted with Terminal Management quicker than immediately, basically because HIS boss had forgotten about it... Not bad for the first day back, only had to extend my shift by an hour and a half. Oh, and it's my eighteenth anniversary in the job today. Nice one. I'll be having a party for that, won't I ! Maybe not !