According to a very short column in today’s Metro, Zimbabwe have banned the sale of second-hand underwear. Yep: second-hand underwear; particularly men’s shreddies.
The reason for this? Not as you may suppose hygiene or anything sensible like that, no, it’s because –and I paraphrase- ‘it is demeaning for men to be seen to be unable to support their wives and families properly, when wives are seen buying second-hand underwear.’
It’s not high on my list of preferences, used shreddies, but if I had to resort to wearing them I reckon that I’d be more interested in knowing that they had received at least one, preferably several, plutonium death washes since being discarded, rather than worry about being seen to buy them.
Another perfectly functional idea founders on the principle of pride.
As my second week at work in 2012 starts, I see that I am no nearer to knowing officially where I shall be working after March. I have my suspicions, based upon the logic of the enterprise, but I have been here long enough to know that it’s a brave man indeed who pins his expectations on organisational logic. The one thing I truly hope for is to lose my line management responsibilities. It’s an absolute chore and I’ve done it for long enough. I am vaguely hopeful on this score, but I know that it’s a far safer bet to assume that the joy will be spread around and I shall have some new lackey to worry about in the future. Hopefully it won’t be a gawdelpus.
On the domestic front, we belatedly ‘de-Christmassed’ the Gin Palace on Saturday. I assumed we were late, anyway. I was certain that 12th Night was the deadline insofar as deadlines matter for this sort of thing, but it appears, information courtesy![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thomryng, that Epiphany is a perfectly acceptable time to do it. I suppose the idea is to get rid of the clutter so the Wise Men can doss down for the night.
De-cluttering has extended to the conservatory. At least partially. Some books have been moved and several plants re-potted. Of these latter, on Bilbo, our Madagascan Dragon Plant is supposed to stay indoors and he has now found what may be his fourth pot in the 4½ years since we bought him. He already looks healthier and happier, though that may just be me and my hopeful thinking.
It looks as though my never-ending forays into the attic will continue as Furtle has plans for the shelving in the conservatory and I need to bring back a set we disassembled and use them to replace a set we are using. It should, if the idea works, improve the book and plant storage in the conservatory and give us a little more space. Over the winter in particular, the room has slowly become somewhere we store things in rather than use and we want to reverse that trend before it becomes embedded habit. Not least because if I am ever to stir myself to do more artwork as I have promised myself, the conservatory is where my drawing block and table reside.
Oh well. To work, I guess.
The reason for this? Not as you may suppose hygiene or anything sensible like that, no, it’s because –and I paraphrase- ‘it is demeaning for men to be seen to be unable to support their wives and families properly, when wives are seen buying second-hand underwear.’
It’s not high on my list of preferences, used shreddies, but if I had to resort to wearing them I reckon that I’d be more interested in knowing that they had received at least one, preferably several, plutonium death washes since being discarded, rather than worry about being seen to buy them.
Another perfectly functional idea founders on the principle of pride.
As my second week at work in 2012 starts, I see that I am no nearer to knowing officially where I shall be working after March. I have my suspicions, based upon the logic of the enterprise, but I have been here long enough to know that it’s a brave man indeed who pins his expectations on organisational logic. The one thing I truly hope for is to lose my line management responsibilities. It’s an absolute chore and I’ve done it for long enough. I am vaguely hopeful on this score, but I know that it’s a far safer bet to assume that the joy will be spread around and I shall have some new lackey to worry about in the future. Hopefully it won’t be a gawdelpus.
On the domestic front, we belatedly ‘de-Christmassed’ the Gin Palace on Saturday. I assumed we were late, anyway. I was certain that 12th Night was the deadline insofar as deadlines matter for this sort of thing, but it appears, information courtesy
thomryng, that Epiphany is a perfectly acceptable time to do it. I suppose the idea is to get rid of the clutter so the Wise Men can doss down for the night.De-cluttering has extended to the conservatory. At least partially. Some books have been moved and several plants re-potted. Of these latter, on Bilbo, our Madagascan Dragon Plant is supposed to stay indoors and he has now found what may be his fourth pot in the 4½ years since we bought him. He already looks healthier and happier, though that may just be me and my hopeful thinking.
It looks as though my never-ending forays into the attic will continue as Furtle has plans for the shelving in the conservatory and I need to bring back a set we disassembled and use them to replace a set we are using. It should, if the idea works, improve the book and plant storage in the conservatory and give us a little more space. Over the winter in particular, the room has slowly become somewhere we store things in rather than use and we want to reverse that trend before it becomes embedded habit. Not least because if I am ever to stir myself to do more artwork as I have promised myself, the conservatory is where my drawing block and table reside.
Oh well. To work, I guess.