Anyone who doesn’t like photos of Acrobatic Terrestrial Pulmonate Gastropod Molluscs Copulating or Making Love upside down on a twig, turn away now.
Too late, you perverts. What ever you lot get up to in your own home is entirely up to you but do not bring it into my living rooms with your utter slimy morning sexy filth.
Eeugh, made my stomach turn somersaults, but I know there’s fans of this sort of thing, I saw it in Sex Kinos in 1985 Berlin, pretty Niche, but you know who you are.
I was at a well-being and mental awareness course today, seemed pretty much like a box ticking exercise to me, as long as upper management do their thing then they have fulfilled their promise to the major shareholder and life can go on, the remote workers can remain scared to speak up because line managers and their managers couldn’t give a flying fuck about us. Lets face it the first port of call for speaking up about mental health is to your line manager, then their manager, possibly then the union, then finally HR, who will then tell the line manager who will continue to scald, but off the record. Its a devilish system and thus far has kept folk in check. But the tides are turning, look at the world. This shit will not continue and sooner or later a once magnificent company will come falling to its knees and massive American corporation will swoop down and scoop us up. Fuck the experienced workers ,fuck the decades of accumulated knowledge, they’ll leave with a lesser pension, and we can replace them with inexperienced graduates with little back up to nurture and aid in the daily grind (some say) of remote working.
Good luck with that.
Now here’s a photo of a Lonely Leopard Terrestrial Gastropod Mollusc
Reminds me of the time I built a new brick fire hearth and Mrs T repointed the brick built rear behind the Log burner. It was pretty old, the mortar was lose, there were some holes and as I was raking out the old mortar, about 8 inches off the floor I went through the mortar to the narrow cavity behind; my steel stone chisel slid through the maw into the void behind, or so I thought, there was some cushioning. Turns out it was a seething mass of slugs, just sliding all over each other regardless, in the damp darkness of the 1850 chimney breast. I’ve got to admit I heaved, and instructed Mrs T to point it up pronto.
Good night playmates.