WAR (DEN)! What is the good of it?
WAR (DEN)! What is the good of it?
Today I have been wandering around my front room/office like a bird on hot coals, unable to settle for more than 5 minutes. Keep wandering out into the kitchen to make coffee and have a half a smoke in the back garden. I must admit to having a problem with smoking, and it’s next on my list of weaknesses to overcome, so don’t have a go at me please.
My work is sometimes inspiring and sometimes very very dull. Like today. I’ve had lots of little jobs to do, but nothing that means anything, and the sum total of my face-to-face social contact has been with the cashier at Somerfield and with the PCSO who picked up the needle I found in the street. I have had a few phone calls, including from friends, but each time I put the phone down I had a feeling that I’d been chattering meaningless nonsense for a while, and now it is all quiet and kind of lonely again.
I loved the fake doctor’s website, I was almost pissing myself laughing, that has been a high point of my week so far.
Creeping debts are frightening us at the moment. I’ve never been in a position to save anything, ever since I got into debt as a student, and the banks kept offering me more and more credit. This was fine while I was earning and could pay it back, but once I stopped work to look after my children our family income dropped massively, then my husband had a period out of work and after that he was only doing agency work for a while. It doesn’t help that he likes to buy DVDs for the kids and beers for himself, but don’t tell him I said so!
To be honest, I wanted to be funny on this blog, but life has become quite serious for me, so it’s not something that’s coming easily. I’m not going to fight my state of mind, so you can either read or not.
The PCSO was just returning to the police station at the end of my road when I approached him. I was on the phone to the council, in a queue, waiting to talk to highways, but thought I’d see if there was anyone else around who could help. Excuse me, there’s a needle round the corner, can you find someone to remove it? He didn’t say much, but indicated he was coming to have a look. I asked him if he was a PCSO or traffic, looking at his label (presumably there to remind him) which said Community Support Officer Traffic. He said he was a PCSO traffic. I remained confused. I’m still not sure who all these people in uniforms are, but I especially like the street wardens’ red Frankie Goes to Hollywood ‘WAR(DEN)’ t-shirts. I’m sure they encourage a spirit of peace and love wherever they go. Actually I thought wardens worked in kennels or prisons, so does that make us all dogs or prisoners?
I said to the PCSO that I’d heard the drugs minister on the radio earlier, saying that drug problems were going down. He was a portly dark-skinned man, I couldn’t tell his race, but that’s why they dress them up like that, but he had his opinion. They’re too lenient. Do you think so, I replied, but by then I was wondering if he could smell ganga on me (there is something about my house that people seem to come out smelling of ganga, I don’t know why). He wasn’t very conversational, so I was left without a political debate, which as you know I rather like. It’s probably a good thing, I would probably have got onto Iraq and then had a heated disagreement with him, calling him part of the axis of evil like I did to this poor young ex-army man I was training a while back. I have learnt since then that I need to avoid the subject at work; it’s bad enough stirring people up about young people, drugs, sexual health and diversity and sometimes their attitudes are appalling and I have to be very careful about how I challenge them, so Iraq and work shouldn’t mix.
Today I have been wandering around my front room/office like a bird on hot coals, unable to settle for more than 5 minutes. Keep wandering out into the kitchen to make coffee and have a half a smoke in the back garden. I must admit to having a problem with smoking, and it’s next on my list of weaknesses to overcome, so don’t have a go at me please.
My work is sometimes inspiring and sometimes very very dull. Like today. I’ve had lots of little jobs to do, but nothing that means anything, and the sum total of my face-to-face social contact has been with the cashier at Somerfield and with the PCSO who picked up the needle I found in the street. I have had a few phone calls, including from friends, but each time I put the phone down I had a feeling that I’d been chattering meaningless nonsense for a while, and now it is all quiet and kind of lonely again.
I loved the fake doctor’s website, I was almost pissing myself laughing, that has been a high point of my week so far.
Creeping debts are frightening us at the moment. I’ve never been in a position to save anything, ever since I got into debt as a student, and the banks kept offering me more and more credit. This was fine while I was earning and could pay it back, but once I stopped work to look after my children our family income dropped massively, then my husband had a period out of work and after that he was only doing agency work for a while. It doesn’t help that he likes to buy DVDs for the kids and beers for himself, but don’t tell him I said so!
To be honest, I wanted to be funny on this blog, but life has become quite serious for me, so it’s not something that’s coming easily. I’m not going to fight my state of mind, so you can either read or not.
The PCSO was just returning to the police station at the end of my road when I approached him. I was on the phone to the council, in a queue, waiting to talk to highways, but thought I’d see if there was anyone else around who could help. Excuse me, there’s a needle round the corner, can you find someone to remove it? He didn’t say much, but indicated he was coming to have a look. I asked him if he was a PCSO or traffic, looking at his label (presumably there to remind him) which said Community Support Officer Traffic. He said he was a PCSO traffic. I remained confused. I’m still not sure who all these people in uniforms are, but I especially like the street wardens’ red Frankie Goes to Hollywood ‘WAR(DEN)’ t-shirts. I’m sure they encourage a spirit of peace and love wherever they go. Actually I thought wardens worked in kennels or prisons, so does that make us all dogs or prisoners?
I said to the PCSO that I’d heard the drugs minister on the radio earlier, saying that drug problems were going down. He was a portly dark-skinned man, I couldn’t tell his race, but that’s why they dress them up like that, but he had his opinion. They’re too lenient. Do you think so, I replied, but by then I was wondering if he could smell ganga on me (there is something about my house that people seem to come out smelling of ganga, I don’t know why). He wasn’t very conversational, so I was left without a political debate, which as you know I rather like. It’s probably a good thing, I would probably have got onto Iraq and then had a heated disagreement with him, calling him part of the axis of evil like I did to this poor young ex-army man I was training a while back. I have learnt since then that I need to avoid the subject at work; it’s bad enough stirring people up about young people, drugs, sexual health and diversity and sometimes their attitudes are appalling and I have to be very careful about how I challenge them, so Iraq and work shouldn’t mix.
posted by Firegoat @ 4:11 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home