Plants, leaves and 30p wees

I had a bit of a rant this morning.  This I think is a direct reaction to the ridiculous nature of work at the moment.  Each week sort of flashes by in a blink of hectic and chaotic nonsense, filled with insurmountable issues and impossible challenges, mixed with constant reminders of just how unbelievably stupid folk can be.

hard knock

It's a hard knock life....

So the nature of the rant was the level of help given by the girls around the house.  I was not ranting about them doing too much, but I think you guessed that.  I won’t bore you with the details of said rant, but I was shocked to find that it might have worked…a bit….for now.  Rebecca spent the day cleaning.  She hoovered upstairs, tidied and cleaned the bathroom, and not only sorted her room out, but also rearranged all her furniture resulting in a room I do not recognise for all sorts of reasons.

Emily too has helped put the big shop away, hoovered downstairs, and although she doesn’t realise it yet is about to make sandwiches for everyone’s lunch tomorrow!

It isn’t too often that I lay down the law like this, but a mixture of being worked to within an inch of my life, and a realisation that they actually don’t do a great deal around the house led to this line in the sand.  How long it will last who knows, but at the age they are, it is literally the least they can do.

If you have not yet heard it on the national news, our back lawn has been conquered.  Following a solid few hours of sunshine last week, well, a lack of rain anyway, Louise made a start on Friday, helped by our neighbour, and I finished the job yesterday aided by a new strimmer.  This new implement, like most things we seem to buy did not work at first attempt, as a crucial bit was missing, so I had to drag it back to B&Q on Saturday to have one provided from another box on the shelf.  So next week some other poor sod will buy that one, go back the next day with a missing bit, take that bit from another box, and well….you see where I’m going.

We do not so much garden, in our back garden, more go to war on unending and vicious plant life.  The guy who owned our house before us was a Biology teacher, and some of the plant life he had growing just refuses to die.  Every summer for the last nine years, we have battled, chopped, removed, and in some cases burnt all sorts of odd-looking growths, which I’m sure are catnip for them botanists, but for those who just want to look at, and weather permitting sit in their garden, this constant over growing nonsense is just crap!

In other non plant news, I was in London last Tuesday for a pretty pointless but unavoidable meeting, and as impressive as the now only two-hour journey is, I still hate it.  With a meeting late in the afternoon, I chose to save the company some cash and travel off-peak, leaving Manchester at 11.30, and leaving Euston on the return at 7pm…the first off-peak train of the evening.  What a mistake.

The journey down was OK, but the return leg was horrific.  The stampeding crowds hurtling towards the platform as soon as it was revealed on the boards was incredible.  I was half way through my Burger King tea when I was almost trampled Lion King style by sweaty blokes in suits, sweaty students in converse and demonic looking silver foxes, heading North to see India, their horse riding, ballet dancing grandchild.  Ok, I can’t be sure of the last bit I admit.

Euston

Final Destination

I took my sweet time walking to the train as I knew I had a seat reserved.  Alas, not in First Class, as that extra £40 would have sent the company into immediate administration, but in standard.  Following an ill-timed call from the boss just before I caught the train, I now had at least two hours work to do on the way home, so I looked on in despair at my seat, and its lack of power for the laptop, and room for both my arse cheeks.  For some reason no-one took up the seat next to me, despite some folk sat on the floor near the loos, and a couple standing.  Perhaps I was one of the sweaty blokes in suits then?

Instead, I balanced the laptop on the envelope sized tray table, completed forty-six minutes of work until my battery gave up and spent all the journey trying to block out the screaming kids in the seats in front of me, who both it seemed had whooping-cough or rickets or some other medieval disease.  By Stoke, I was so uncomfortable that I vowed there and then never to travel like this again.

As I described this journey to my boss the following day, in between telling him why he only had forty-six minutes worth of what he asked for, he did tell me to book first class next time, as the adverts say, because I’m worth it.  This is good news of course, but no reason at all to rush into making any more trips to London until it is absolutely necessary.

All this, plus having two 30p wees at either end of the journey made for not a great Tuesday.  At Manchester this meant finding a cash machine, then buying a drink from a shop, only to find I still didn’t have the right change.  I then had to find a change machine, and break £1 into crappy shrapnel, to then reach the turnstile to find someone had put too much in before me, and I could have had a 10p after all.

Seeing that the loos were just around the corner from the turnstiles, I did consider making my point by seeing if I could hit them from this side of the turnstiles, thus saving 10p.  Maybe in my younger days, but at my age I’m lucky to hit the back of the loo from point-blank range.

This week also saw my Dad return briefly to hospital for a planned stay.  He has something that it seems needs regular draining.  The details of which are not for here I think, but he again got through it OK, and was in fine spirits when I took my Mum to see him on Wednesday evening.  So much so that he was most upset that his request for a Kit Kat had been ignored/forgotten by Mum, so I had to seek out the WRVS shop to prevent it turning nasty.  He seemed quite settled, with his Sudoku book, personal telly and Horlicks being served to him bedside at supper time.  When asked when he’d be coming home by Mum he pointed out that the healing process could not be rushed.  The fact that he would be unable to golf at weekend meant he was in no real rush to be home, and was quite prepared to be waited on for a few more days.

However, I’m sure he was glad to be turfed out on Friday, and is doing fine apart from a little soreness.

Oli’s week has been one where he has certainly grown both in size and confidence.  He is terrorising the cats, and has taken probably two steps back after his one forward on the house training front, but I guess this was always going to happen.  We just need to be patient and consistent I think.  Either that or Louise is going to tie a knot in it!  A threat with which I am familiar.

So another week looms, bearing who knows what delights.  If at any point you’d rather do anything than work, have a wander over to WDW Dads where I added my third article this week.  It is all about a friend of mine who had a birthday.

Till the next time…..

 

 

 

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