March 21st 2019

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Missed the fucking spring equinox, due to the flooding of my work station with jobs from folk who think I’ve got nothing better to do. I used to do this daily and now because i’m so busy I’m having to make changes to my life:

I’m starting to work late again; this is a bad thing and must be curtailed, just need to get over my end of year appraisal which is next Wednesday I’m delighted to find out.

Blogging seems to be taking a back seat, I now know how I would feel if I had a silent partner who did no work and took the credit, (in a way that only I understand at this precise moment in time)

I’m missing coffees at a disturbing rate of knots, again due to the work bastards and all that they stand for.

Problem is, I have freedom and am to a certain extent (massively) institutionalised, the thought of going somewhere else terrifies me and fills me with ideas that i’m better off where I am. Classic example of an institutionalised man.

Must get my CV written up, before its too late and I enter the trolley parking or garden centre packer age bracket.

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We are all walking headlong into a river of shit, swept along by people who care not for the workers. The ministry proper, N, M, C and D (me) took part in the pub quiz on Tuesday, we came second out of 4, so third last if you look at it that way depending on the way your glass looks to you. Neither is wrong, eyebrows will be raised whichever way you look at it. We lost by 4 points, maybe 3; I pulled rank over a simple adding question and got it wrong, shameful, still kicking myself.

As the weeks roll into months, my dog, Benny, seems to display more and more traits of a cat, a feline; he chases lights and reflections across the walls and ceilings, pouncing when the slow, hitting his nose on the paintwork, good job its wipe clean, we’ve got kids, its a kitchen, dirt is all around as is Benny’s wet nose residue. He loves chasing and eating spiders. He chases shadows across the floor. He sits like a cat but has yet to purr, next month we shall have him castrated, he’s spending quite a bit of the time humping Mrs T and prowling around with his tongue hanging out of his mouth like some crazed feline/canine impression of sex addict Russel Harty. His time spent with Hattie is explosive and unrelenting, she’s not coming into season yet and Benny is mad with the passion of spring, wanting to rut like a stag, the dirty bastard, hence castration, the poor bastard.

More excitement to follow, will there be more characters hidden in the woods? Which will be the first flowers? Yes and Wooden enemies, in that order.

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