And with this blog we get ever nearer blog #1,000, just four to go now, which means it will be either Friday or Saturday. Are you excited? Jools has guessed one of the tracks already, and the identity of one of the other acts, so she leads the unofficial competition to win dinner out with me. Just as well really.
And so Monday. Monday bloody Monday. Why is it that Monday comes round so quickly and so regularly? Maybe we should have two Sundays, one to relax in and one to fret about work in, ready for a fretful Monday. That goes along with the two Fridays, the second one so you can look forward to the weekend twice as much. Brilliant, eh? The we are just one day away from the full decimalisation of the days of the week, which will be completed by an extra Saturday, one in which to lay in bed in, just thinking about getting up.
So passes the working day, pondering how to fix the days of the week and the misery of Monday. Monday wasn’t so bad: I drove to Ramsgate, and this time of the year, traffic is light so I potter along keeping to the speed limit, looking at the flood defences springing up all around Sandwich and along the river.
Work is, well, work. And with the holiday season ending in Denmark, it means the filling up of the inbox at a steady rate. However all mails that began with the phrase ‘welcome back from the holidays’ were deleted without reading further, which is the way things should be.
I had meetings, wrote mails and postponed my completing travel claims for another two days, as you do. Although its never quite as bad as you think, it is the thought of it that is bad, like a visit to Mother’s.
There has been a serious situation at work, which I won’t go into, but something has been hanging over me, after a comment by someone to my line manager, and instead of someone in authority making a decision, they palmed that off onto me. Of which I was not, and am still not happy about. I was asked to give assurances on things that I could not. So I did not, and that was accepted. Which was a surprise. And so things are as they were before, other than my confidence has taken a battering and I have lost all respect for one person in authority.
Upon getting home at half four, I find that all the render is now off the house, a new fence has gone up between us and next door and so we will not have to look on the neighbours bathroom window when we’re out watching the stars come out of an evening.
And 100 years before, Britain entered which was to become known as the great war, or the war to end all wars, or world war one, and one wasn’t enough to get all the killing done. Oddly enough, the great and good included many members of the royal family, whose direct relations were on the throne of bother Britain and Germany, and being cousins (I think) they could have sorted their differences out over a glass of port rather than the killing fields of Flanders. It would have saved 17m lives too. Although, no one said this, just how lovely Mrs Wales looked, although her sister and her bum did not appear.
At 11 in the evening, people all over the country switched off their lights and lit candles in commemoration. In Chez Jelltex, we were already in bed and snoring at that time.
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