Saturday, March 13

the floor

The body is still dragging itself off the floor after a thorough doing from a gang of viral, bacterial and perhaps fungal opportunists. Just when you feel like jumping for joy, it all takes a dive and you feel like crap again.

Last week I had a full week back at work. On Monday morning, I got to the room early, so I lay down on the floor for five minutes' rest. When the clients arrived, they found me fast asleep on the floor.

The clients helped lift the mood, especially the easy-on-the-eye ones, and I was able to power through the blahs. How fortunate one is.

By Wednesday, things were going well, and I worked 14 hours non-stop, with a working lunch at the computer, and a bar of chocolate for dinner.

On Friday night, when the last client had left the room, I put off the light, lay down on the floor and slept for an hour.

If the British Airways folk don't get a move on, they'll miss their last slot for a strike. After a ballot and months of prevarication, they still have to give at least a week's notice. In my day, it wasn't like this. A strike could be wildcat or lightning. There was no talk of mass ballots and notice periods.


  1. Albert? What kind of clients is that exactly? And why are you seeing them in your bedroom? Maybe best not to know! Hotboy p.s. You should be able to walk off the jobbie anytime, but at 35,000 feet I'm not so sure!

  2. Hotters. Because I'm quite famous in these parts, the nature of my work must remain confidential. But If it helps I am able to reveal that it involves discipline.

  3. I say!

    Have you tried changing your diet? I find that I never get ill (apart from very occasional bouts of malaria) on an excllusive diet of pig's arse.

    MM III

  4. Mingers, I hadn't realised there was so much in a pigs arse.