A weekend of domesticity and a week of furore

The Tower looks somewhat different now.

Suddenly it contains an extra desk and computer, two fancy office chairs and a new bookshelf. At some point we need a new bedside table and a chest of drawers. Your Hero appears to have gone domestic.

Once I have tidied up the table, I shall have room for my drawing board. That means that I shall have no excuse for not doing some artwork. Bum Hurrah! All this room needs now is curtains. Cripes. We are off for pizza shortly and then I guess it will be time to do the last minute chores of the weekend (iron shirt, trim pate, wash the dishes etc) and then bed time.

I have a day off on Wednesday: for the first time in my life I am joining the strike that has been called. Our beloved leaders have mucked about with the pension plan and have decided on redundancies and a pay offer of 2% (in some cases less). Since their own inflation target is 2.7% and the actual retail price index is running at 3.5%, the offer is just insulting. I am not one of those who insists on above inflation pay rises as a matter of course, but something to match inflation is needed. If there are job cuts, those of us left will have to pick up the slack, so I don't fancy working harder for less money in real terms. Especially when His Nibs, Scotland's finest, the Chancellor of the Exchequer is soaking us with creeping taxation. So strike it is.

Brothers! Sisters! To the barricades!

But quietly, please. I shall have a lie in that day.

A weekend of domesticity and a week of furore

The Tower looks somewhat different now.

Suddenly it contains an extra desk and computer, two fancy office chairs and a new bookshelf. At some point we need a new bedside table and a chest of drawers. Your Hero appears to have gone domestic.

Once I have tidied up the table, I shall have room for my drawing board. That means that I shall have no excuse for not doing some artwork. Bum Hurrah! All this room needs now is curtains. Cripes. We are off for pizza shortly and then I guess it will be time to do the last minute chores of the weekend (iron shirt, trim pate, wash the dishes etc) and then bed time.

I have a day off on Wednesday: for the first time in my life I am joining the strike that has been called. Our beloved leaders have mucked about with the pension plan and have decided on redundancies and a pay offer of 2% (in some cases less). Since their own inflation target is 2.7% and the actual retail price index is running at 3.5%, the offer is just insulting. I am not one of those who insists on above inflation pay rises as a matter of course, but something to match inflation is needed. If there are job cuts, those of us left will have to pick up the slack, so I don't fancy working harder for less money in real terms. Especially when His Nibs, Scotland's finest, the Chancellor of the Exchequer is soaking us with creeping taxation. So strike it is.

Brothers! Sisters! To the barricades!

But quietly, please. I shall have a lie in that day.