Good Friday Eve

Hasn’t this been a weird month? We’ve had all sorts of different weather. I long for the good old days of set seasons happening at set times, although I imagine that’s yet another false memory, like any of the ones that involve the phrase ‘the good old days.’

A quarter of 2018 has gone already, isn’t that scary?  Not as scary as the thought of being covered in chocolate and then locked in a small room with a group of hormonal, heartbroken women in their early 20s, but still – scary. Before you know it, it’ll be Christmas and I’ll be moaning about how much pressure I’m under to sell extra produce during December, as if ten pounds worth of diesel can be marketed as a romantic Christmas gift.

I have a ‘senior manager’ visit coming very soon. If my recent illness was down to work stress then this is just the news I would NOT want to receive while still recovering. So if I plummet into a world of pain again you’ll know you can blame Head Office. My suspicion is that the rumours about ‘cross-departmental workforce amalgamation’ are true and they’re coming to tell me I’m three months away from redundancy.

I must stop writing these blog entries piecemeal at work. I do fifty words, then get distracted, then come back again with a different viewpoint. It’s very unprofessional and probably difficult to read coherently.

If I correctly judge this sentence length, this posting will be exactly 250 words.

RC 29-3-18