Sunday, 29 December 2013
Work. The curse of the drinking classes.
Apologies if you’re getting up for work in the morning. I’m sorry I really am. Not as sorry as if I were going mind you.
We’ve occasionally discussed opening the office in between Christmas and the New Year but it’s my contention that the only calls we’d get would be from time wasters and troublemakers. It’s not my decision but I hope things will stay as they are and a nice long holiday, the only one apart from Easter where work is closed and no possibility of those “Mr so and so came to see you. He wasn’t very pleased you were off” type conversations.
It’s been really blissful mooching round the house not getting any of those jobs done. I could get used to this. It’s like being retired except there’s a pay cheque at the end of the month.
Don’t suppose there’s any possibility I’ve won the lottery? No, thought not.