Stuff, things and other stuff and things

Don't ask me why, but the lyrics to that song that goes "you're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you don't you" popped in to my head earlier.  I thought about it for a second, and came to the conclusion that the singer is an arse.  Let me elaborate....

 

The singer is singing the song directly to someone, that much is patently obvious by the use of the words "you're" and "you".  To then try and claim the song isn't about the person being sung at is ludicrous.  Anyway, from the completely random to the just as completely random.....

 

As some of you may already know, I'm being made redundant in a (at the time of writing at least) 2 days, 2 hours, 12 minutes and 19 seconds.  Which I'm more than happy about.  The thing that's pissing a few people off right now is the fact that we're still here, pretending to work and already the desks are being removed, computers taken to other parts of the building and etc.  We've not even bloody left yet.  Once again Barclays show their usual tact and diplomacy.  Bastards.

I wish I was a station announcer

I passed through Kings Cross earlier this evening (no I wasn't looking for a good time) and was witness to the complete inability of adult human beings to follow even the most simple of instructions.

There were a load of people waiting at the entrance to platform 1, and as the train arriving at said platform pulled in to the station the announcer dude made a (very clear) announcement telling people not to enter platform 1 until the train had come to a stop. Twice. Obviously then a load of people started walking on to the platform. The station announcer might as well have been speaking Portugese. Or perhaps Welsh. Why these people decided to completely ignore the announcement I don't know. Perhaps they were Welsh.

I decided there and then that I want to be a station announcer. Had I been today you would have heard the following from the PA system:

Please do not enter platform 1 until the train arriving has stopped. Hello? Everyone walking on to platform 1, are you deaf or stupid. I said do NOT enter platform 1. As in the negative form of do. I might as well be speaking to myself. Fine, do what you like, see if I care....

I think I'd be good at that job.

Late for work

As I write this I'm sat on a bus heading in the exact opposite direction to the direction I need to head to get to work. To say I'm going to be late today is somewhat of an understatement.

My excuse this morning is that my alarm didn't go off. Although this is 100% true the point is rendered moot by the fact it didn't go off whilst I was asleep in a different town to that in which I live. Of course, my boss doesn't need to know that.

I can get away with this for two reasons. Firstly, I'm being made redundant and don't care enough to be bothered about punctuality, and secondly I have a trusted colleague covering for me should the boss phone the office looking for me. It always pays to have someone who's willing to bullshit for you in an emergency, especially if you can pay them wih crisps and cans of Cherry Coke.

Today's excuse is probably the worst one I've used for some time. My favourite still has to be 'my washing machine flooded the kitchen'. I phoned that one in whilst curled up on the sofa with the girl who'd spent the night with me, drinking tea and generally not giving two shits and a fuck about being in the office. I should have been given an Oscar for my performance that morning. On the phone.

The all time best excuse (which I've yet to use) for being late / not going to work has to be 'I shat myself on the train'. Enjoy that mental image.

Pesky blog software

Hi all,

 

Apologies for the lack of updates - I've been experiencing a few technical problems of late, which basically resulted in a very funny and well written post simply disappearing in to the ether.  Which was nice, and wasn't a total waste of half an hour. 

 

This may help to explain the previous post, which was basically a test.  Unfortunately, as I've mentioned previously, my IT department are bastards, and I can't log in to my blog account to remove it.  Peh!

 

So then, what's happened since my last post?

 

Ah yes, the fireworks party.

 

We decided to have a fireworks party and obviously the women in our social group were not to be trusted with an important task like going firework shopping, so three of us went down to the local explosives shop with some cash, and set about buying the best fireworks we could.  There were two main criteria - they had to be huge, and if possible, they also had to have a good name.  We therefore ended up with fireworks either called things like "Armageddon" or "Criss cross crabs after sweetcorn".  I still think we should have bought "Happy swan after amazing lay" but we had already reached our budget of *cough cough splutter*....

 

So, we returned with a large box of very large fireworks, and proceeded to get drunk and put on a display.  Which was fine, until we got to the point where we decided to launch three rockets simultaneously.  Rocket one went shooting in to the sky, rocket two failed to light, and rocket three decided it wasn't going anywhere, but was instead going to explode in the garden.  Cue the two words you never want to hear at a fireworks party ("Shit!  RUN!") followed by some very swift exits from the garden.

 

I don't know if you've ever seen a large rocket explode from about ten meters away, but it's bloody impressive.  What was more impressive was nobody died.  There was a lovely crater in the lawn though. 

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