Happy New Year everyone!
According to a news item I heard on the old fashioned radio-wireless this morning, today is the grumpiest day of the year. I also read that New Year resolutions are actually pretty bad for your mental health, so I hope you haven’t made any. New Year, New You? Bollocks. Same you as last year. Same you as next year and the year after that. As my Mum wisely said to the teenage me that was leaving home because of an argument about bananas, “wherever you go you take yourself with you”.
Thanks Mum.
So, in between shouty nightmares last night, I was thinking about returning to work for another year. Last year was really hard. There were some really bad times and some really good ones. This year, at the risk of damaging my mental health, I’m going to try and make things / projects / the office / processes / systems / etc a little bit better every day. If I absolutely have to take myself with me wherever I go, it has to be a me I can live with.
After some subtle arm-twisting I’ve finally dolloped something on the company blog. I hope it doesn’t leave a lasting stain.
The picture above, btw, is a squirrel eating some fried chicken in front of my house. Mr Cavill always said that “wherever you go in London you can turn 360 degrees and see a chicken bone”. Now I know where they come from.
At work the other day I received one of those charming Royal Mail bits of cardboard. The ones that I suspect are delivered because, oh I don’t know, the pubs are open and the parcel is too heavy or something. Hmph, and no-one says thank-you when you’ve spent all day trudging round in the cold and the rain, and what the fuck happened to giving the postie a Christmas tip?
Normally I get these bits of cardboard rather than a parcel because it’s been delivered during working hours. Working hours! When no-one’s home, yeah? There’s probably some great strategy at work here to maximise everyone’s fucked-offness. I digress.
This latest bit of cardboard promised a surprise. I wasn’t expecting a delivery. “Ooo, it’s proof of life on other planets,” I thought. The bloody aliens had, understandably, got a bit confused about the postal charges though. There was 40p left to pay.
40p for the chance of never having to work properly again because I’d be on the Trekkie/Trekker circuit signing photos of someone who looked like a younger version of me? Best offer I’d had all day.I logged on the to the Royal Mail website to settle up. Oh, another £1 to pay in admin charges. Hmm… well, I could do a better ad for Warcraft than Shatner… bring it on.
The next day the alien communicae arrived. It was a box of radioactive cakes from Ultraspeed hosting to say “Merry Christmas and thanks for the business this year”. I’m thinking of sending them a life-size replica of the Eiffel Tower made from lead with a 2p stamp stuck on it.
