Friday, 23 November 2012

Boney Mmmmmm

After the cataclysmic incident on Monday when The Spanish Girl arrived in the office on Monday in the same clothes as me...a bright blue cardigan and blue jeans, yesterday Gay George turned up wearing a pink jumper and black jeans...the same as me.  Something is going on here.  Actually the Spanish Girl isn't Spanish, and Gay George isn't gay (married with children).  It's just that we have completely politically incorrect nick-names for everyone here.  Is that wrong?  We don't think so...there's plenty of inappropriate banter around the office in this politically correct world.  But I do worry that we don't go too far...the question is always knowing when to stop.

Gay George's colleague, Gay John is not in today.  Last night he fell off a high roof whilst trying to recover a remote control helicopter that had gone off course.  You could ask what is a 36 year old man doing flying a remote control helicopter, and what was he doing climbing on a roof.  Well boys will be boys, and these days boys don't seem to become men until they're at least fifty five.  GG showed me a photo of the result - as horrific a picture as you'll see anywhere...his leg is broken and the bone was sticking out several inches.  Gross.  I will be all the more careful when i hop on my motorcycle home tonight.  A picture has been posted on Facebook, which I would reproduce here, but when I saw it, I felt sick for the next hour.

A side note on matters in the Middle-East.  I bet the Israelis wish they'd agreed a truce the day before yesterday - the psychological impact of a bomb on a bus in Tel Aviv would be quite severe, and globally gives the impression they were beat...assuming you accept that one Israeli life is worth thirty Palestinians.  In Syria, it looks as though smug Mr Hague is edging ever closer to sending in some sort of military support...probably the bombers, rather than the foot soldiers who are lambs to the slaughter.  It remains beyond me why we can't keep our noses out and let other countries sort their own problems out.

On TV, we started watching The Killing, having missed the first two series.  Those Scandawegians certainly know how to pull these programmes together, although whether we'll manage to stay the course I don't know...thank heavens for iPlayer.

Tomorrow The Cat's Mother heads off for her annual girls trip to the mid-west country.  They will enjoy spa treatments and Christmas shopping.  That should leave me at home with the teenagers.  But I think I'm going to escape to the seaside, and enjoy the Brighton flat to myself.  I'm not sure about the ethics of that, even though they're both more than capable of looking after themselves/killing each other