Thursday night

Sometime between going out to the local quiz night with ellefurtle, colonel_maxim, smokingboot, motorpickle and Chris sans LJ and having a shower ten minutes ago, the last of the squelchiness in my sinuses seems to have fled. Do I put it down to the decongestants, the booze, the heat in the pub, or the moist, warm air of the shower? Or is it some horrible alchemical mixture of the lot? Who knows, certainly not I. Suffice it to say that I can now breathe properly, and feel fine.

Hurrah, I hear you say. Well, those of you who cashed the cheques anyway.

On the other hand, it means that I have no excuse to not go to work in the morning. Boo.

The pub quiz was good fun and had we remembered that Maggie’s maiden name was Roberts and that King George VI gave Brenda her first corgi, we should have been in with a shout over the prizes. In the end, we were close enough to feel hard done by (had we cared enough) but not so close as to risk getting into a bottle fight. As it was, it provided a pretext for the bunch of us to go out, have a chat, a few drinks and something to eat and when all is said and done, that's what it's all about.

And now I shall have one final decongestant before going to bed just to be on the safe side. Then I shall steam for a little as I drip dry and then to bed.

Thursday night

Sometime between going out to the local quiz night with ellefurtle, colonel_maxim, smokingboot, motorpickle and Chris sans LJ and having a shower ten minutes ago, the last of the squelchiness in my sinuses seems to have fled. Do I put it down to the decongestants, the booze, the heat in the pub, or the moist, warm air of the shower? Or is it some horrible alchemical mixture of the lot? Who knows, certainly not I. Suffice it to say that I can now breathe properly, and feel fine.

Hurrah, I hear you say. Well, those of you who cashed the cheques anyway.

On the other hand, it means that I have no excuse to not go to work in the morning. Boo.

The pub quiz was good fun and had we remembered that Maggie’s maiden name was Roberts and that King George VI gave Brenda her first corgi, we should have been in with a shout over the prizes. In the end, we were close enough to feel hard done by (had we cared enough) but not so close as to risk getting into a bottle fight. As it was, it provided a pretext for the bunch of us to go out, have a chat, a few drinks and something to eat and when all is said and done, that's what it's all about.

And now I shall have one final decongestant before going to bed just to be on the safe side. Then I shall steam for a little as I drip dry and then to bed.

Back at work and grumbling already

Back in the office and I’m wondering if I made a mistake; maybe I should have stayed off another day and made sure that’d properly recuperated. The sinuses on the left side of my face are sore again after a night’s sleep; they are nowhere near as bad as they were and my left eye no longer feels as if it is a cube, but I am pouring with sweat and it’s frankly not that hot. Still, I shall have to lump it, now for the day.

Come the revolution, there is a new sector of society that is on notice that it will be put against the wall at the first opportunity. I speak, since you ask so nicely, of young mothers who use their babies and pushchairs as battering rams and offensive weapons. I am happy enough to extend the usual courtesies to them, including helping carry the pushchair down steps and that sort of thing. I don’t mind walking a few yards round them as they take up additional space on the pavement. Any number of things I can live with and make allowances for.

The ones that will not survive the revolution are the women who weave along the pavement aimlessly, making it impossible for anyone behind to pass them. The ones who speed up and slow down for no immediately apparent reason; those who are walking behind you with a pushchair who suddenly speed up and overtake on (in this instance) your left and then cut across your path to go right, whilst remaining resolutely mute.

There should be pushchair and pram tests, both practical and theoretical just as there are for learning to drive. Unless you pass these you should not be allowed out in charge of a wheeled baby-carrier.

Damn it, they should extend the same respect they expect from others.

Come the revolution…

Back at work and grumbling already

Back in the office and I’m wondering if I made a mistake; maybe I should have stayed off another day and made sure that’d properly recuperated. The sinuses on the left side of my face are sore again after a night’s sleep; they are nowhere near as bad as they were and my left eye no longer feels as if it is a cube, but I am pouring with sweat and it’s frankly not that hot. Still, I shall have to lump it, now for the day.

Come the revolution, there is a new sector of society that is on notice that it will be put against the wall at the first opportunity. I speak, since you ask so nicely, of young mothers who use their babies and pushchairs as battering rams and offensive weapons. I am happy enough to extend the usual courtesies to them, including helping carry the pushchair down steps and that sort of thing. I don’t mind walking a few yards round them as they take up additional space on the pavement. Any number of things I can live with and make allowances for.

The ones that will not survive the revolution are the women who weave along the pavement aimlessly, making it impossible for anyone behind to pass them. The ones who speed up and slow down for no immediately apparent reason; those who are walking behind you with a pushchair who suddenly speed up and overtake on (in this instance) your left and then cut across your path to go right, whilst remaining resolutely mute.

There should be pushchair and pram tests, both practical and theoretical just as there are for learning to drive. Unless you pass these you should not be allowed out in charge of a wheeled baby-carrier.

Damn it, they should extend the same respect they expect from others.

Come the revolution…

A Challenge...?

Following a chat in the pub last night with smokingboot, I have decided that we ought at least to try to wake just_writing from the torpor it suffers from between half-hearted annual attempts to get some of you buggers to contribute Christmas ghost stories.

I have had a slight inspiration around the sad lives of the denizens of Dimpler Towers and hope to have something written in the next day or so over the bank holiday weekend.

I know that a fair sample of the people on my friends list is decent writers¹; I’ve worked with a number of you on NWO and I’ve read contributions from others. There’s a talented if lazy mob out there. I count myself in the lazy bit at least. If I’m going to post something, will anyone join me?

(Cross-posted as usual, so it can be ignored by the greatest selection of people I can reach).

¹Grammatically correct, yet oddly wrong-minded; this sentence is a literary Roundhead: repulsive but right.

A Challenge...?

Following a chat in the pub last night with smokingboot, I have decided that we ought at least to try to wake just_writing from the torpor it suffers from between half-hearted annual attempts to get some of you buggers to contribute Christmas ghost stories.

I have had a slight inspiration around the sad lives of the denizens of Dimpler Towers and hope to have something written in the next day or so over the bank holiday weekend.

I know that a fair sample of the people on my friends list is decent writers¹; I’ve worked with a number of you on NWO and I’ve read contributions from others. There’s a talented if lazy mob out there. I count myself in the lazy bit at least. If I’m going to post something, will anyone join me?

(Cross-posted as usual, so it can be ignored by the greatest selection of people I can reach).

¹Grammatically correct, yet oddly wrong-minded; this sentence is a literary Roundhead: repulsive but right.