Woke up on Tuesday morning at 7.50am. Jumped out of bed, suppressing expletives in various languages and pulling a muscle in my back as I did so – that one under the shoulder blade. 7.50 is the time I normally leave the house in the morning. Decided this time not to leave the house, given the distress which would have been caused to onlookers by my state of undress.
Shortly after arriving at work at 8.30 on the nose, discovered that our receptionist had also slept in when I joined her in the queue for breakfast in O’Brien’s.
The backroom staff at work have had their numbers boosted and their biscuit supply disproportionately depleted by the arrival of Dish, freshly arrivée from France and still blogging, much to everyone’s relief. Having spent a whole year picking up working practices in France, we are anticipating her going on strike at any moment, but in between spells on the picket line she will be helping the Admin Supremo in his tasks – primarily coffee-drinking and causing civil unrest. And cheerily replying “Super Dooper Doo” when asked how he is by people on the phone, shortly before ferociously devouring them for applying the wrong tax code to our invoices or some such.
Mum, meanwhile, has gone south for the summer, or at least this week, to spend time with my sister and little Maggie. Share the love, I say. It would have been rude of me to keep all of the nagging to myself for the whole year. Dad, having been notified that I would be staying with him while mum was away, immediately booked himself a week in the most expensive nursing home he could find. I fear I may have messed up the porridge production one morning during my last stay, and my dad has a long memory when it comes to the quality of his food provision. Initial reports from the nursing home have been encouraging: the desserts have been of a very high standard. In fact he almost fell out of his chair with excitement while describing them. Dad takes his desserts very seriously.
Speaking of falling out of chairs, the toilet seat at work has cracked again. Reluctant to speculate on the identity of the guilty party, I can only report that all members of staff used the facilities on the morning in question, and none reported any problems getting purchase. Nor, indeed, was any damage noted or commented on. Perhaps their circumspection can be attributed to a desire to not feature in a blog entry…
Time for bed. Don’t want to sleep in again. Angry Mac Guy describes a blog as a generic layout filled with details of the writer’s every bowel movement. Apologies if this one’s been a bit like that, I like to think it usually isn’t. Come to think of it, my blog normally has details of other people’s bowel movements. Not sure that’s any better. Ho hum…
i like your Dad. porridge does have to be “just so” and desserts are important, Andrew, you know that…
i like the blog-authors attention to life’s little details, introducing more of his delicate nuance to the piece.
i like to hear that your colleagues have utter distain for each other (in the WC at least) and that you have taken it upon yourself to inform the known universe of such flagrant distain for fellow users of said WC.
all in all, blogs are about what goes on in your head. the sooner the rest of the world (and you?!) understand that, the happier we’ll all be – right?
Peace
W
Talking of food…It is known that Andrew received a box by personal delivery containing chocolate cake. I understand that these chocolate cakes are regularly delivered to his place of work and there is a fee of 5% due to me as payment for the ingredients and the skills of the baker. I did NOT receive this payment
On the contrary, dad, one of the chocolate cakes was received at my place of work with a decent-sized chunk missing. I have it on good authority that this was a paternally-imposed cake tax, and from memory it was about 20%.
Harsh though it is to expose your tyrannical rule in these matters only the day after Father’s Day, I feel the public need to know the truth.
To keep things correct. The paternal cake tax is a relatively new tax. Andrew rightly said a chunk was taken out off a cake but I think it was 25% not 20%. This would suffice in back tax and a relatively smaller tax will no doubt be put in place for further cakes, not necessarily every cake.
Bowel movements and cakes? Hmmm…I wonder if maybe, since your Dad has not been paid his 5% fee decided to sprinkle constipation – inducing ‘ingredient’ into the cake mix??? PAY the man!!! Or your dad may just decide to add a different ‘ingredient’ – laxatives! Inevitably resulting in NOT the usual reoccurrence of toilet seat breakages, but you and your work colleagues getting your wages docked to pay for the toilet drains blockages to be fixed!
Well Andrew, it would appear I am not the only freeloader or trouserer of other people’s cakes.
Dad – thanks for sharing – please provide more incriminating information 🙂
Nasty Jen – do you want the blog to become a repository of incriminating info from parents about their offspring?
And it does still sound like a good deal on the cake front, Andrew. Personally, I would be happy to pay a tax of 20-25% of a cake in return for receiving the rest of it.
I see you’ve given the page a wee rhytidectomy – vey nice.