Tuesday, October 12, 2010


Well, here I am again, returning from yet another one of my protracted absences - my excuse this time is that I became engulfed in an explosion of something called WORK at work, and have scarcely had enough energy to even stay awake for the entirety of a film. (That was OK though. The film was Seven Pounds, and it was seven pounds of shit despite having Will Smith in it, so I wasn't missing much.)

I've also been wrestling with fifteen boxes of engineered three-strip oak flooring, the attendant underlay and trimmings and I have won. However, that was just getting the bastards out of the car. Now to get somebody to lay them for me (oo-er missus!) as I'm right fucking pissed off stubbing my toe on them every time I go downstairs. The neighbours do not need to hear "Ooooow you fucking *****!" at 7am every morning through the wall. They have small kids who may suffer irreparable psychological damage from hearing such outbursts.

Anyway, just as I thought I could relax, my arch nemesis decided to pay a visit. No, not Untidy Guy from my previous Department. (If he turned up on my doorstep, I'd have a horrible job getting enough acid to dissolve the body of the fat bastard.) Nope, it was time for my annual chest infection.

My lungs filled up with goo. And over a weekend too, so I end up being too fucked to go to the pub. But bless my turbo-charged garlic-fuelled immune system and its fighting phagocytes of fury! When Monday comes, my phlegmy rattle goes, and I can work!

My body is such a bastard. Out goes phlegm, in comes vitriol. Watch this space. Especially YOU, Untidy Guy.