Dirty Doris

I normally laugh at the weather forecasters and the way they create fictional climate crises to justify their worthless positions, but I have to say they’ve been spot on today. When they informed us last night “Make a will and say goodbye to your loved ones, coz Storm Doris is gonna blow the flaps off your grandma,” I scoffed. But today may well have been the windiest day I can ever remember. The seemingly never-ending building work had to stop because it was too dangerous for them to use the scaffolding, and at quarter past eleven we gave up trying to tie down the bins outside and let them disappear across the car park. As usual, I took a barrage of abuse from customers who think that it’s part of my job description to control the weather. I smiled my usual smile and passed on my usual condolences while internally imagining them roasting slowly and painfully over a barbecue. 

Why is it that every time I start writing about something that has nothing to do with work I end up taking a left turn somewhere and writing about work anyway?  This was supposed to be about the weather and the unusual strength of the wind and I’ve just done a paragraph on the garage. Bloody Hell. It’s the reality of this shitty work-first earning-obsessed Western culture of ours where what you do for a living and how many hours you waste doing it is far more important to people than what you might do with your family. Whatever else is in your life is irrelevant - it always comes back to that 8-hour chunk of unhappiness that dominates your sorry existence. And I fell into that trap again. 
I’m going now before I sink even further…..

RC 23-2-17