Work work work, Holden is a jerk.

Or so goes the first line from the Puppet in Mash n Peas’ (read Lucas & Walliams) skit “Help There’s a Puppet In My House”. So naturally you might have guessed, I’m about to bitch about work. My inbox has exploded with tasks and activities, so many and so much that I’ve finally opted to use the task manager on Outlook to help keep a track of them all rather than rely on the tried and tested post-it method. I’d say it’s environmentally friendly but PC’s are worse than paper on old Gaia so there.

Tuesday’s quiz was an enjoyable affair, chiefly as we walked away with three spot prizes. In fact, the pub were so pissed off with us that we actually got slow clapped when Joey went up to collect the third prize. Piktcha is attached highlighting what we won. But in the spirit of good relations, we opted to share our prizes with colleagues. We were one point away from winning the main prize and nowhere near the grand prize. I was able to abstain from alcohol completely and stuck rigidly to diet coke. And as our numbers were depleted thanks to a few last minute drop outs, I invited Dave from Finsbury Park to make up numbers.

Yesterday stank. It just stank. I was promised a 30 minute conference call at the beginning of lunchtime but it went on for an hour and 40 minutes to my severe irritation and annoyance. By the time I was able to shove my dinner in the microwave, I saw that Barry dropped me a text saying that three angry looking bailiffs were after the good Doctor. Although their credentials were less than forthcoming, I was nonetheless on high alert, ringing around furiously and barking orders down the phone, words along the lines of “sort yourself out”.

It took three hours of wrangling but I think the situation has been tamed for now. The words “bankruptcy protection” were mentioned but when I pointed out the consequences of such an action, opinions and notions beat a hasty retreat. And of course I didn’t like to think of the repercussions on me. But still, it just felt like the absolute worst thing at the worst time; a final indignity (I’m going to try and recall where I stole that line from – I think it was a novel. Of course, I can’t help but hear Sara Stewart’s “I suffered…indignities” line from KOTOR2).

But things perked up in the evening. Whilst the names have been changed to protect the innocent, I ended a month-long drought. And it really, really could not have come at a better time for me. Just the tonic for a heavy, hectic day.

Ah, and in other news I discovered why I was called t’other Sunday – my uncle Steven passed away last week. Went to bed and didn’t wake up again. I don’t want to say I’m blasé about it but it’s had zero emotional impact; haven’t seen him since 1993. The Straw side of the family was always engaged in a pitched battle of one-upmanship when I was growing up and the battle between eldest and youngest brothers was pathetic. The middle one was always too superior for his own good.

Did pop out to Tesco Vauxhall/Kennington today at lunchtime and picked at some of the post-father’s day treats. Three 1kg bars of Dairy Milk all half price. That’s three birthday gifts sorted out.

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