Mr and Mrs McMuffin

stupid me again

As I sit here, unable to sleep, thinking about my old chum and other seriousness, I feel the need for some lightness to leaven the heavy dough of reflection!

My unfortunate experience with an office chair yesterday led me to recall another embarassing chair related incident at work from some years ago. I worked in the most incredibly busy team with monstrous amounts of child protection work, and in all such environments you find ways of managing the pressure. I think that because our work was so serious and grown up, we became silly adolescents back in the office. One day one of my favourite managers asked me to make a visit with the Police that would mean I wouldn't be home until late AGAIN. To emphasise my despair, I said I was collapsing under the pressure and started sliding down the chair shouting 'I'm melting, I'm melting'.

Unfortunately this chair had arms. My arms slid underneath them, and when I had finished showing off I tried to get them out. I found that I couldn't. I was trapped in the chair, and the more I struggled, the worse it got. After being laughed at for quite some time by my unsympathetic colleagues, they came to my rescue. They couldn't extricate me from the chair either. Forced to contemplate a life attached to an office chair I pleaded for assistance from a good looking firefighter. They decided they'd give it another go rather than call out the fire service (they had been called out not so long before and 3,000 people evacuated due to an alarm set off by my friend making toast) and tipped me on the floor. Fortunately, the chair moved a little, and they worked out that if I sat on the floor they could pull the chair off me backwards.

You would think that I had learned my lesson and would treat office chairs with the respect that they so clearly deserve. Sadly this is not the case, and they continue to exert an unholy fascination for me.

don't talk to me

...I am having to re write someone else's court report and appear with them in court tomorrow as their 'manager'. It's going to be a fucking fiasco and I'm worried that we won't get the order because it's been such a cock up from start to finish. The Social Worker won't even know what he's talking about as I don't think he's bothered to read the file.

So I won't be blogging or doing anything except feeling more tired and swearing as I spend most of the night trying to write something halfway decent. He probably earns as much as I do, too.

Anyway, that woman from yesterday, right, she did go and have the smear done and it wasn't as bad as she thought. I just want to point out that the woman isn't necessarily Mrs McMuffin. It could have been a post about someone else, you know.

it's only me...

Finally beginning to recover from the body blow dealt to me by my beloved brother. At least Mrs McMuffin has the small comfort of knowing that it all had nothing to do with her. The sad thing for me is that my brother seemed to be doing so well. He had made all sorts of changes in his life, and I no longer felt the urge to call him a psycho. I was beginning to quite like him. He appeared to have lost the edge of violence that always seemed to be around when he talked to me, or anyone else for that matter. But I guess all of that was nothing more than a veneer, and lurking underneath was all the madnes and violence just waiting for an opportunity to pounce. I wonder how he tells the story of the incident to himself? I wonder if he paints himself as the righteous man finally able to tell me the truth? Families are very, very strange. What more can I say?

Normal service will resume shortly.

mini kilt sensation

I am able to move on to amusing wedding anecdotes now, like the one about Mr McMuffin getting all dressed up for the wedding only to discover that despite being measured for the kilt, they had decided to give him a totally different sized outfit.

Mr McMuffin was given an outfit that would fit an average man of 5'5". Unfortunately he is much taller than this. Picture him in a mini kilt and jacket that came to the bottom of his ribcage. Not a good look for a grown man, indeed any man. Sadly he was forced to wear a linen shirt and trousers. He looked fine, but he's gorgeous in a kilt.

for slinky...

Keith over at The Sturdy Soapbox sent this to me this morning. Thought it was such a great idea that I just had to share it with you all.