The title of this blog has nothing to do with what I’m writing about, but I thought it sounded like a good title so I went with it. I also think it would be a good alternative name for the ‘Seasonal Specials’ aisle at work but management do not agree. Once again my creativity is stifled by the stiff-necked world of conformity.
At work now, pretending to type up departmental rotas for May. I somehow have to cover Bank Holiday Monday when 9/10ths of my staff have the day off. It’s not an easy task, so I’ve allowed myself to get distracted by blog stuff and websites about cheese.
I’m playing pitch and putt with Ted and Alan later. We had such fun last week that we’ve decided to make it more regular. If only my bowel movements could follow suit…
Alan over-did it with the hip flask last Sunday and ended up eight-putting the last hole, despite landing his tee shot two feet from the cup. I finished my usual 38 shots behind everyone else but still enjoyed myself immensely. There is something very pleasant about walking around in the Spring sunshine pausing only to whack a small ball a hundred yards or so with a bit of metal. Maybe it takes us back to our caveman days when we got all our food by clubbing it to death.
Beryl is worried that Alan might be drinking too much, too regularly. She asked me if I think he might be risking his life with his alcohol habits. I wanted to tell her he’s probably risking his life more with his filthy casual sex habits, but I don’t think that would have given her the reassurance she was looking for.
Anyway, back to the rota stuff. The quicker I get this finished, the quicker I’ll be on the fairways….
RC 21-4-13
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