Writing from Home

I’ve noticed something – recently I’ve been posting from work. The posts are different I find that I’m writing as if someone from headquarters was peering over my shoulder. I think that when I post from home that my writing style is more natural, more me.

So here I am posting from home. Here’s what happened today.

Woke up at work. Got up in pyjamas and opened the gates. Sat at work computer and planned my day. Laughed heartily at Ed post. If he woman would be minx. Male equivalent of Minx? Had breakfast. One shredded wheat, sliced half banana, dried pineapple and milk, glass orange juice. Had shower. Got dressed. Worked all day until 4:30pm. Work consisted of writing reports, showing client best way to clean toilet, doing key work, talking to St Vincent de Paul about how latest request to them for help was unnecessary as money shortage caused by spending dosh on drink and only wanted money for fags anyway. Too bad, so sad.

I got home from work at 5ish to empty house, No Bert, no dogs. Shrugged shoulders and poured glass of wine. Phoned Katy who is panicking about having entire Bowyer clan to stay with her in February. Told her not to worry as long as I got bed to myself, ex-husband can sleep on sofa and sibs can bunk up together. Sat down to read article in Observer about Bez and decided would like him for new best friend. Then read fascinating article about Kate Moss, decided Zoë much better bet as daughter, though unfortunately not worth 15 mill to help out dear old mother etc. etc.

Then Bert came in. Where dogs? Bert spent Saturday night in Hillsborough and dogs left home alone Saturday night. On his return he took them for lovely walk through fields. They, suffering from cabin fever, had taken off after rabbits and had not been seen for four hours. For badness, being very spoiled and not used to lack of human company.

So we go to Ghillies Bar to see Banjo Man and the boys giving it welly and get a bite to eat. Says I very good idea – to hell with those damned dogs, if farmer shoots them we’ll get ourselves some new, good dogs, who won’t run away. So we went to Ghillies Bar, saw Banjo Man and the fellows all of whom were playing well below par due to having been up late at Banjo Man’s mum’s 60^th birthday celebrations the previous night. We ran into Young who told us that he had given up his ‘good job’ at the County Hall to pursue a life of hedonism and geetar playing in sunnier climes. I heartily congratulated him on his courage. Young was our inside man in the planning office but he’d already told us there wasn’t a hope of building being allowed up our road within the next 20 years so OK to sell current gaff and fields to the Wee Manny.

One delicious meal and two gin and tonics later we decided it was time to return home. Greeted in yard by two very dirty, hungry dogs that we ignored. Went inside, made coffee and ostentatiously petted the cat still ignoring evil dogs. After coffee fed dogs but remained cool towards them. Relented 10 minutes later gave them pets and told them very bad, horrible brutes not as nice as good cat.