That’s me. Not physically, but hold that thought while I mentally prepare my list of people who should be. This week I have mainly been firing up the motivational chainsaw, while adopting a coping mechanism built around edged weapons.
Things have not been going well.
I’ve missed out on riding, and almost everything else other than sitting in front of a phone and shouting. The phone is carefully placed so to leave me room to beat my head repeatedly against the desk. Again, I categorise such action as “coping”.
This morning, the light finally filtered into my train journey at Reading. I am sure you can imagine how disappointing that is. Whooshing through the Cotswolds – identified by the smell of twee – in the inky blackness of the pre-dawn, only for light to illuminate the architectural disaster area that is London West.
I do not expect my day to improve. Although tonight I am separated from the hedgy burrow by an evening in London. I expect most of tomorrow to involve some form of hangover cure. Possibly hacking my own head off with that chainsaw.
Until then, I must away. Things to do, people to see, desks to damage through the management tool of hysterical headbutting.
2 thoughts on “Buried”
Mmmmmm, Reading. I was there last week in a traffic jam in an over-heating Mini which was lovely prior to a long-anticipated meeting during which my computer failed to connect to our server on the Isle of Man. Fortunately, Shiraz fixes most things.
Head to the Madjeski Complex and grab a rather excellent espresso from the Infiniti showroom.
I’m so glad I don’t live in the South East any more 🙂
But still must go riding…. pesky work!