For the last two weeks my office, and the entire south wing of the building, has had no heating. Boiler’s knackered and I don’t think they can be bothered to fix it.
This leads to me slowing down at work.
It’s not my fault. I do a lot of typing and work on the computer all day long, but there is only so much time I can leave my hands out in this atmosphere. It’s like a fridge!
It doesn’t help that for the last week we have suffered snow blizzards, rain and freezing temperatures. All this adds up and it feels like I’m working in Iceland. Mum certainly wouldn’t come here.
It is currently 13 degrees in this office as I type (shhh, I shouldn’t be writing this at work!). Now, I know that doesn’t sound too bad, but imagine it was the same temp outside and you were just sitting in one place. In a shirt.
Nipples like chapel hat pegs.
If it goes on much longer I’m going to have to refuse to work. Go home. Or start a fire in the middle of the office. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.
However, please don’t compare my tale of woe with all those brave people who work in actual arctic conditions or on building sites. I’m an office monkey, I like to be warm. Is that too much to ask?!
The bane of my life is driving me nuts.
No, it’s not the wife, its work. Doing. My. Head. In.
I know, I know, I’ve said it all before. But the last month or so is making me bang my head against the wall. There are so many incompetent people in this world, it is scary.
I’ve got a job where I can’t say anything. No matter how useless the boss is, how much of a waste of time this particular task is, I can’t say a word. Not a dickie. I can tell my boss my concerns, he’s on the same page and agrees with me, but that’s as far as it goes. Nothing else will be said.
The joys of being a Civil Servant.
Diplomacy is an art form. I am a master.
You have to have so many faces to deal with the different people and their problems. I have never seen so many moaning people in one place. It’s like a full bingo hall where the same old biddy won the main prize twice in a row.
Sadly, in this space in time, I can’t go elsewhere. I’m stuck with this job for the foreseeable future.
It’ll either end by me strangling the management or creating a large alcove in the nearest wall to my desk.
Hello world, it’s me again.
I won’t drone on about absence as I’m sure your all pretty tired of it now. No excuses.
Anyway, today is my birthday, Yep, I’m getting old. Another year passes by, all too bleeding quickly, and it’s another towards collecting my pension.
It’s no biggie, I’m only 31 now so not quite over the hill and past it, but as you grow older it seems the less important birthdays become. I remember being young and every birthday being the best thing to ever happen, full of party bags and jelly.
Wind on ten years, the teenage years, with the jelly being replaced with jelly shots of vodka. Good times. I’m still having flashbacks of good nights.
Then it’s 18th – Pub. Then it’s 21st – Pub.
After that it doesn’t seem to matter. The novelty wears off and the need for presents dwindles because if you want something, you can just go and buy it. And obviously the older you get, the ‘settling down’ instinct has kicked in. I got married at 25. First child when I was 28. Second child when I was 30.
I don’t need a party, cake or surprises. I just need sleep. Lots of sleep.
I’m sure I’m not the only person who thinks of it like this. Naturally there are those individuals who stay the mental age of 5 and insist on having a bouncy castle every year and who are now 43.
That’s not me. Give me a cup of tea, a biscuit, Pointless on the telly and five minutes peace.
And hey, I share the same birthday as the late, great Tommy Cooper.
And Bruce Willis.
It is amazing.
Somewhere in the world Peppa Pig has done something extraordinary.
Maybe she’s become Pope and I’ve not heard. Maybe she’s pregnant. Maybe she’s turned to crime. Maybe she’s started using ‘recreational drugs’.
I don’t know, but she’s doing tremendous amounts for blog views. I am happy to get ten or more views on any day. But so far today alone, bearing in mind it’s half ten here, I’ve had over a hundred views and it all stems around this bloody pig.
What’s going on?
It would be nice if people were interested in things I actually have to say, and not merely to pinch the picture from Google, but hey, it inflates my ego for a little while.
But still, I can’t change my mind. I still don’t like the pink little source of bacon.
As you might have noticed, I don’t write as often as I should and even when I do, it’s not very intelligent. But something weird has been happening.
The traffic to my humble little blog over the last week has extraordinarily increased. Whilst I don’t understand or expect it to last, everybody seems to be looking at the same thing.
It’s not a recent post either. Has Peppa Pig died or something, or has she become Pope? A little post, maybe from last year, stating some reasons as to why I don’t like the pesky pig seems to be attracting some reaeders.
Whilst I fully understand that it is probably just people looking for pictures on Google, and not anybody seeking out my opinions, it just makes me wonder as to what she has done to suddenly warrant this kind of attention?
Is she in line for a role in the next Popedom? Has she had the illegitimate love child of Postman Pat? Is she going to be on the next series of Celebrity Big Brother?
I live in wonder.
On a different topic, I am still trying hard to write my book. I have all the ideas in my head, ready to explode on to the page, but not the time in which to carry it out.
I work all day, get home and have something to eat, play with kids, put the kids to bed, and then by that time I’m too knackered to do anything but veg out in front of the TV and fall asleep.
Why do I find it difficult to plan my time? There’s just too much other stuff that takes precedence over me sitting down and writing a silly story, I suppose.
Maybe it’s just not meant to be. Perhaps it’s time to give up the fantasy of writing a book and focus on the real world.
I just need to grow up.