These days I work from home. Contrary to what Boris Johnson would have people think, that doesn’t mean I spend all day walking to the fridge to get some more cheese. If I wanted cheese I’d probably bring the whole lot and put it on my desk to save the trips. Of course, I could do that if I went to work too since I’m not an imbecile. I haven’t eaten any cheese since I started working from home (circa 2 weeks ago). Neither have I watched a single episode of Jeremy Kyle. I have eaten a whole jar of pickled onions since Sunday, but if that’s wrong I don’t want to live in a world that’s “right”.
So I’m not pigging out or watching trash tv, but there must be some weakness in my psyche that I succumb to when working from home (other than the pickled onion fiasco). After all, I’m not a superhuman. My brain runs with electrical impulses like a computer, but it’s soft and mushy like any other real living being. What’s my Achilles’ heel? I can tell you (since I know you won’t tell anyone) that my motivation to stay clean is pretty much gone. I mean, why bother with ablutions? It takes up precious working time! Now that I don’t commute I can work an extra 2 hours a day. Without showering or dressing properly I gain an extra 35 minutes (what? I like a long shower!) I would say that not washing is win/win, but…
I showered this evening for 2 reasons: first, I couldn’t honestly remember the last time I had washed. And (b) I could smell myself. For real.
A quote just for Petra: There’s a tramp in the house. Oh, the tramp is me.
Since this is my first political post (it references the Mayor of London) I am putting up a politically charged photo. Rebel.
That means I now have a blog archive from another month! I'm thinking of turning pro. All I need now is to increase my actual blogging by around 3000% and find interesting stuff to say instead of this sort of drivel...
I decided, whilst in the shower the other morning, to be deeply offended by the lyric in the song from South Pacific: "There ain't nothing you can tame that is anything like a dame." (For completeness, the song is There Is Nothing Like A Dame, and yes, I often sing late-1950's show tunes in the shower.) I marched downstairs doing my very best Germaine Greer face at the indignation I was feeling from being compared to "something you can tame."
'So, I'm like a wild animal?' I asked David (in my non indoor voice). David cleverly sensed a trap and didn't answer. 'How dare they!' Continued I, unperturbed, 'How dare they imply that a woman is something to be housebroken, to be leashed until "tame"! I know it was the late-1950's, but how very dare they!' (For full disclosure, I thought it was the 1960's, but I imdb'd it.)
I looked up the song online and it turns out the lyric is actually, "There is nothing you can name that is anything like a dame". Subtle difference. Sounds the same. But fair play to them, they're factually correct, no problems here then. I decided to withdraw my "decision to be offended", fortunately before releasing my anti-misogynistic rant on the interworld web via my blog.
I turned on my iPod and listened to some Whitesnake instead. Slide It In album, I believe.
This is a blog, I'm sure it's not the first you've ever seen so you know what to do. If it is your first (aw, how sweet!), all you do is read. And comment if you feel so inclined. If you have anything pressing you want to contact me about then email me. Let's blog!
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