Day Of Horror

Just had a horrible day. Don't ask. But since you did, I'll tell you all about it. All my careful arrangements fell apart. My email broke. Found I'd bought the wrong thing. Bought the right thing and it wouldn't work. You reach a point where you are left with an intrigued, detached air as you observe the upcoming situation and wonder how fate is going make this one go pear shaped.

(I wonder why being pear shaped is a bad thing? Are pears evil? - mental note to look into this)

Anyhoo, got home to find that the Tesco home delivery had replaced all the Raspberry Yoghurts (yum) with Black Cherry (arrgh). Why is it always that swap? And why today? And at the moment there is an hour long EastEnders special being inflicted on us (which is why I'm cowering upstairs).

I think I'll go to bed. It is probably safest that way. Oh, and does anyone want any Black Cherry yoghurts?

The Little Brown Ikea Pencil of Doom: Part 3

The inspector looked down at the case files on the desk. Case 1, a man who built himself into a wardrobe. Case 2, a chap who seems to have consumed fifteen sachets of furniture glue. Case 3, the bloke who did that horrible thing with the Allen key. The inspector shuddered at the memory. Case 4, the new guy, the one with the paper tape measure round his neck. There had to be something that linked these deaths. He racked his brains. Perhaps they were linked by being totally unconnected. He imagined the headlines "Police solve the case of the completely unrelated murders". He shook his head. Probably not. Someone was standing at his desk. He looked up. Constable Wilkins did not seem himself. His uniform was disheveled and he had what appeared to be sawdust on his jacket.

"Bad night constable?" asked the inspector.

"Not too bad sir" came the reply "Although those doors with the fitted hinges are a devil to fit, and the handles were the wrong ones..".

"What do you want?" The inspector did not fancy another drawn out description of DIY.

"There's a chap at the front desk who wants to see you. Swedish bloke. Says he knows something about the recent deaths."

"Oh well, send him in."

Lars Swedishname was a small, nervous man with a package under his arm. As he spoke he looked constantly around, as if he expected something to jump out from the shadows at any moment.

"I know what is causing the killings" he said breathlessly as he sat down, clutching the package to his chest. "Something terrible, something evil. And I have in my possession the only thing that can stop it".

"And what would that be sir?" asked the inspector smoothly. He knew from experience that the best thing to do with these types was to humour them.

The little man indicated the package he held and leaned forward towards the inspector.

"The Blessed Electric Pencil Sharpener of Salvation" he whispered.
(to be continued)

Read Your Dreams?

There is a book in the coffee lounge at work. It purports to help you understand the meaning of your dreams. A "dreamologist" (or whatever they are called) has put down an alphabetised list of things you might dream about and written helpful descriptions of what they mean. It is a very thick book. In every sense of the word.

It fell open at "electricity" (apparently this means something to do with power). Well duh. Actually, I've never had a dream about electricity. My fantasies do not usually involve wiring plugs up and measuring voltages. (perhaps this means I'm not a proper engineer, but we will let that pass). Apparently some people do not dream in colour, although this may be because the licence is cheaper.

I looked up a couple of my dreams and they weren't in the 600 page book anywhere. I'm not sure if this is comforting or worrying.

Messenger Wit

Rich: Got a moment?
Rob: Yep, there it goes.

Please Don't Fire Me

People are getting fired for writing blogs which are critical of their employers. I can't see this being part of a life plan really;

1. Find a job you don't like.
2. Moan about it in a recognisable (and un-funny) way in front of a potential audience of millions.
3. Get fired.
4. Be found on street corners drinking from a bottle in a brown paper bag and moaning to passers by that you'd like to let them in on how horrible your life was if only you still had an internet connection.

When I count my blessings (which I do surprisingly frequently) I always count the fact that I enjoy the job I have. I feel incredibly lucky in this respect. Of course it could be better, and of course I really should be a millionaire by now. But I'm not. And I'm still mostly happy. (but still up for that rise of course....)