My boss had a good old fashioned yell at me today. I haven't had one of those for a while. The one good thing about my job - and the same thing that can also make it rather depressing - is that it's a tiny company, just me and him sometimes. But generally we get on pretty well, more as friends and equals than Capitalist Pig/ Wage Monkey.
I suppose my boss had a reason to rant today. His two-year-old had kept him up all night so he was perpetually ratty. Plus the phones didn't stop ringing and the Internet continually cut itself off. But it was the scrawled message I'd shoved under his nose after he'd finished yet another call that made my boss explode:
'Customer wants to know where his fucking bags are. He's heard bugger all for two weeks.'
I had the painful thought today that although I work hard in my job, I could always work harder. It's a normal response to finding it all rather dull now, and then it occurred to me that perhaps I'm just lazy by nature and everything I'll do in future will also be shit and poorly paid and actually I'm just a bit of a cunt.
I have been religiously cycling to work and swimming each morning though. It's the only thing that's been lifting my spirits and preventing me from scouring East End pubs for a reactivated Hungarian revolver so I can play Russian Roulette with a fully-loaded cylinder.
Also on the plus side, I've completely given up smoking since returning to Blighty, using a clever little aid called a cigarette. By popping a lit one in my mouth and inhaling the fumes 8 to 10 times a day, I find it completely cures my nicotine cravings.
My one glimmer of hope on today's Dead End horizon however, was receiving my first set of photos from Spain; all the thrills, spills, and laughter, captured forever on little 6x4" images of fun.
All I got were 24 pictures of a burnt Stegosaurus sweating in a shirt, next to my tanned mate.
Among these holiday photos were pictures of my Mum's walking cardigan, Baxter. He barks at doorbells and pisses on floors.
Here is Baxter.
Compared to me, Baxter looks like George Clooney.
Oh good. Now some Russian teenagers are leaving anti-Semetic comments on my blog.
Something brilliantly life-changing had better happen spontaneously. I clearly won't have a hand in it.
I'm about as effective as a noble thought in Jeffrey Archer's fucking head.