Alas the lottery balls have denied me the joy of telling work to place their job anywhere north of the sphincter. The hope I invest in this each week is beyond sad, and until the balls drop on a Saturday evening, in my mind it is a valid route out of a Monday morning.
As you may have predicted the working week was spectacularly poor. There have been smatterings of good news, with many of my guys affected quickly finding new jobs. I have greeted these bits of news with a mixture of definite pleasure, and just a little jealousy. Until I get that lucky, I am enslaved to “work through it”, so onwards I trudge.
My “no work here” rule is under strain, as I could quite easily wax lyrical for quite some time on the reasons that I would literally rather be anywhere else but at work tomorrow, but I shall resist. No doubt many of you dear readers feel the same, so it would be selfish to do so.
With a veil thrown jauntily over the working week, other news this week was also on the bad side. Late on Friday night, my Mum was taken into hospital. She was suffering from some serious abdominal pains, and she was admitted for prodding and testage. I popped up to see her today, and she seems much better, but is waiting for more scanning to see what on earth it was. It seems the immediate problem has gone but it would be good of course to find out what the underlying problem was/is.
Having done the visiting thing for an hour or so, Emily I then picked up a new Christmas tree. We binned our long serving model a couple of years ago, and had a real one last year, but the thought of having both a real xmas tree, and a four-month old puppy in the same house is perhaps not the most sensible idea. So we’ve (heavily) invested in a new unreal tree. To get suitable value from the investment, I shall expect my great grand children to be gathered around this bloody tree in decades to come!!
Really, it is just some metal rods with green bits stuck to it. We left the decoration of the tree mainly to the girls this year, once I’d done the annual wrestle with the lights, and other erection grunt work. Apologies for the very poor quality snap, but it looks pretty good (honest).
As some sort of well-timed mood setter, it is now snowing outside. All we need now is three pints of advocat and Shakin’ Stevens to turn up and it’s just like Christmas used to be in the good old days.
So Christmas is on officially, and I welcome its arrival with open arms for many reasons -
1. I will be off work for almost two weeks
2. It involves lots of food
3. It signals the end of what is essentially four months solid of reality TV.
Plus, on January 2nd I like to see if I have won a favourite game of mine. It is called, which tragic minor celeb has released a fitness DVD for 2012. Amongst the Hoseasons adverts and that bloody Martine McCutcheon plugging some white gloop that does you good, there is always at least half a dozen Davina’s pushing their lycra clad exertions, with them air brushed within an inch of their lives on the DVD cover.
My predictions for 2012 are -
1. Any one of the vacuous skin wastages from The Only Way is Essex.
2. Fatima Whitbread, and by the way, I have an exclusive sneak peak of that one…..
3. Russell Grant (yes, he’ll milk this five minutes for all it’s worth).
What are your predictions then??
Till the next time…..