Shi(r)t Happens...

I'm rubbish at domestic things.

Today I destroyed a brand new (3 week-old) shirt. It came from a posh label and set me back a good few more quid than my usual Penney's or Dorothy Perkins apparel.

A stray sock got in with it (its very first wash, having only been worn for the first time on Friday) and my other light coloured things and discoloured the collar a murky shade of pink. Even though I had one of those sheets that catch runny dye (on the off chance that a red sock got in there - I am notorious for this) in the machine, the shirt collar decided to relieve it of its responsibilities.

A swift application of colour run remover, and what was once a blue and white striped shirt is now pale pink and green on an off-white background.

And I didn't have any gloves, so the eczema on my left hand is starting to throb. Must resist the itch!!

Bugger anyway. So much for my fancy notions.
Yes, I'm going to complain. I can't not complain. It isn't in my nature. But in the meantime, it's back to Penney's for me. Where I belong. But not on a Saturday, life's too short to spend three hours queuing.

Stress

My job is making me sick.

The stress is getting to me.

My sleep is broken. I am waking up at all kinds of odd hours.

Like 10.30 a.m. for instance. But at least that's just about a quarter of an hour away from tea break time.

Really fucking pathetic fallacy

My iPod gadget which I use for in-car entertainment when driving to and from work is a great device. I have it on shuffle, meaning I can have anything from Cannibal Corpse to Corelli, or from David Bowie to Ella Fitzgerald. And yes, I have some cheesy eighties stuff thrown in.

Sometimes it even seems to pick up on my mood by selecting a few highly appropriate songs in succession. I love this when it happens.

My journey homeward this evening in the pissing rain was one such occasion.

Firstly, I had Ron Sexsmith's (wonder what's the origin of that name?) April after All "It's really coming down... the rain has got to fall, it's April after all..."

Followed immediately with She's Lost Control by Joy Division. Perfect, as I have indeed lost control - not of the car, thank fuck, but of my sanity, for at least six hours and fifty seven minutes a day, when I have to sit in the Department and fret about how little I know all over again.

The effect was spoilt somewhat by Goldie Lookin' Chain and Your Mother's got a Penis.

Darn.

Civil servants make good

This evening, on BBC2, a panel of four senior Civil Servants from the British Ministry of Justice won the "University Challenge The Professionals". They proved very erudite and capable adversaries over the National Physical Laboratory.

Senior civil servants? Pah. I don't know how it is in the UK, but if that were an Irish programme, there would be a bunch of graduate COs and EOs under the desk whispering the answers up at the mandarins, and getting kicked if they didn't provide the correct answer.

The Commonly Held Perception of the EO's Role

Conversation in the canteen today:

(Following on from a discussion on one Clerical Officer's previous employments.)

Clerical Officer: God, there are some shit jobs out there, all right.
Govstooge: What, do you think there aren't any shit jobs in the Civil Service?
Clerical Officer: No, there aren't. Well, apart from yours, that is.
Govstooge: (Foams at mouth)

There may be another vacancy at the tea table soon...

Further reasons why Govstooge should not be in charge of anyone...

Since undertaking certain new duties at work, I have come to believe that I am a really, really crap manager. I hardly set a good role model for anyone. Nor do I inspire confidence in those I have been assigned to lead. Today, I flouted all the common precepts of what it takes to be a good manager.

I openly admit complete ignorance of some procedures. Omniscience and the authority that goes with it have, sadly, evaded my grasp, as has any confidence my staff might have had in me. I realise that I am at the foot of a very steep learning curve and I can only gain in knowledge, but I have never been able to bluff my way to making others believe otherwise.

I swear too much. Today for instance, when a computer program I was trying to execute (oh yeah, for that is the word, all right) failed, I slammed my keyboard against the desk, shouting "Fuck this fucking bastard system and all who designed it! Fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck!" The reaction from colleagues was a mixture of amusement and complete alarm.

I scowl and mutter at the HEO. I think, for the first time, that my boss is now scared of me.

Apart from the above, I have started muttering to myself. Usually swearing, like when I am about to leave in the evening and I look out the window to see what the traffic is like, and I see it backing up as far as I can see, I am often heard muttering "Fucking stupid bastards. Who the fuck needs to go to Dunnes Stores every single fucking day of the week?"

The applications for transfer out of our section, I imagine, will increase exponentially in the coming weeks. I know that only the section's resident weirdos will stick it out until the end.

May God have mercy on us all.

It's me berfday!

Well, the blog's, that is.

But I'm off to eat a big cake anyway.

And it's all mine. No-one else is having any.

OM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM!