Bored, bored, bored.

I don’t know why I bother blogging at the weekend; people blog less during these two days than at any other time. Probably because they have better things to do than waste their free time. I read somewhere that blog reading wastes more man-hours than time of work due to illness, so far from being free it probably costs the taxpayer billions of pounds.

Any way I thought I would come into work, it’s a short hop from the train station where I dropped my friend of this morning. She is going down to London for the week, sort of as family break, she doesn’t see her parents often these days. I was invited to go with her and sample the delights of our capital city, I declined, I hate the place. I suppose I should really be at home cleaning, god knows the place needs it. A friend who came round the other day suggested I run the Hoover over the kitchen carpet. He looked confused when I told him that I had genuine imitation wood flooring not carpet and he kept rubbing the side of his shoe backwards and forwards on the floor until he was rewarded with a small patch of imitation wood flooring. Why don’t people believe you?

The bathroom is a minefield of empty bleach bottles, used toilet roll centres soap boxes and toothpaste tubes. A blue peter presenter could make a small entertainment centre and hotel complex out of that lot.
I will make a start on it Sunday, maybe. Perhaps I should get a maid, It would be nice to have something in a size ten, with blonde hair, big boobs and dumb as a piss stone pottering around the old family pile. I can just see her wobbling across the living room in high heels flicking a duster, pouting and saying “Oh Mr D don’t be silly, I don’t need wages, just sing to me pleeeeeeeeease”. She could wear one of those little short French maid outfits, I think Iv got one somewhere, I think I have a feather duster too that doubles as a whip.

So here I sit in my office surrounded by empty coffee cups and mountains of faxes imploring me to buy or rent; Water vendor, office humidifier, import containers, new car, or even a new fax machine so that I can get yet more of this shit uninvited down the phone line. You can’t stop them either. Phoning the number they provide for doing just that is a waste of time, and money, not to mention a waste of printer toner.

Its times like this that I long for the sun and the Aegean Sea of Greece, oh well, one day.