December 12th 2018.


I was so cross yesterday, I ended up buying ready made Chicken Kievs and curly fries, and feeding them with Farty beans to my family with liberal splodges of tomato sauce and more than a couple of glasses of Red, even after meeting in a wonderful pub with my friend who makes components for inter continental ballistic missiles. He hates his job  and it turns out the output of these will be increasing by a significant amount to cater for all the nutters in the world we sell them to. I wonder if I could buy one if I had the money? I reckon I’d need some sort of massive catapult, and I know exactly where I’d be sending it right now; my boss’s house, i’d prefer it if he wasn’t in; i’m not an animal.

We had a vocal disagreement that went on for about 45 minutes yesterday evening whilst I was stuck in a traffic jam in Worcester, it was dark, slightly rainy, i’d lost all inspiration to buy Christmas presents and the mobile phone reception was sketchy so I struggled to understand what the fuck he was talking about some of the time. I know he does too, that much is obvious.

So the offshoot is he sent me to Newport, a settlement the good Doctor S (remember him, resident bottomist, and expert on all things Floral and Faunic) describes as, and I will directly quote, because its good;

“The Quaint Welsh town of Muddy River banks”

That isn’t far off the mark, it didn’t fill me with any sort of joy after arriving nearly 2 hours after I set off from home this morning, far too early, and thus missing my morning walk, my morning coffee and my morning ablutions, nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Yes it was not a good start, plus I’ve got the same damn thing tomorrow, I will have to apologise to my fellow Ministerials, Minstrels (they sing and sometimes dance, a little bit).

So chat for me today consisted of work phone calls amongst fellow workers, their noses to the grindstone just as much, and seemingly no way out of the completely unplanned un-budgeted for, mess we, as a company, find ourselves in. Really these managers need their heads looking at, I sometimes wonder if the Directors have the slightest idea what is going on. I’d try and get another job, at times, but I fear, like Red in the Shawshank Redemption, I am institutionalised, having done this for 19 years! Don’t get me wrong, its still a good deal of fun and interesting but when we are asked to do something and we can’t for the life fathom out why, then it makes swallowing the pill a little harder, like foul tasting durian, for example.

So I won’t dwell, I will get up early and walk Benny, before the bus, I then have to go on some sort of Skype meeting before I head on down the ol’ road to Newport again. That was organised by my bloody boss too, he could see I was busy. Cross face.

Please give this tune a listen, this just about sums up Newport, and if you are stone clearing, then maybe refer back to previous idiocy and follow Richard Herring’s podcast. My new brother is now very much involved in the art of stone clearing and brilliantly over the weekend told me that in his youth he actually did some relief stone clearing, but with mechanical aid. Is that cheating? Yes, yes it is.

Thanks to my nurse friend for this, I’ll call him Lord D, to protect his identity.



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