The Great Tidy Up
On a course last Thursday and Friday, which was billed as a leadership development course, but turned out to be an assessment centre. All very stressful, especially as I was in a group with a loudmouthed overbearing Scots boor, who kept on interrupting me until I eventually had to keep talking right over him to make my point, which raised eyebrows. Results were the usual: brain the size of a planet, social skills the size of a mousehole. So anyway, I am back at work this morning, invigorated to TALK TO PEOPLE MORE and CHANGE MY LIFE, even though this involves no longer cutting people off at the knees who take too long to get to where they should have got five minutes ago, if they only spent as much time listening and thinking as they did talking.
Finished early on Friday because of the course so went to pick the grills up from school. Walked back across the common, stopping so Curly could eat a bit of someone's birthday cake that she got from school al fresco, and then again at the Nightingale for orange juice and lemonade. Larry amazed that it is actually possible to walk home from her school, a trip which by public transportation would involve two train rides and a platform change at Clapham Junction, the busiest railway station in the UK.
Got home to find that our stuff had been delivered from HK and was now covering our floors in a great tide of crap that reached halfway up the walls. Spent all weekend sorting, dumping and tidying. It is now almost manageable ie it is at the stage where all the papers are in a pile in the filing cabinet, all the clothes are in a porridge in the cupboards, and all the CDs need to be matched with their empty boxes - rather than all the papers, clothes and CDs being in a variegated heap in the middle of the floor.
Reading DG reminds me - the sexiest rugby player is NOT that French bloke who looks only half-human, but Olly Barkley, with the face of Pope Gregory's catamite and the thighs of a god. Hubby is discussing his form - Would you play Barkley, he asks. Yes, my dear, I certainly would.
Finished early on Friday because of the course so went to pick the grills up from school. Walked back across the common, stopping so Curly could eat a bit of someone's birthday cake that she got from school al fresco, and then again at the Nightingale for orange juice and lemonade. Larry amazed that it is actually possible to walk home from her school, a trip which by public transportation would involve two train rides and a platform change at Clapham Junction, the busiest railway station in the UK.
Got home to find that our stuff had been delivered from HK and was now covering our floors in a great tide of crap that reached halfway up the walls. Spent all weekend sorting, dumping and tidying. It is now almost manageable ie it is at the stage where all the papers are in a pile in the filing cabinet, all the clothes are in a porridge in the cupboards, and all the CDs need to be matched with their empty boxes - rather than all the papers, clothes and CDs being in a variegated heap in the middle of the floor.
Reading DG reminds me - the sexiest rugby player is NOT that French bloke who looks only half-human, but Olly Barkley, with the face of Pope Gregory's catamite and the thighs of a god. Hubby is discussing his form - Would you play Barkley, he asks. Yes, my dear, I certainly would.
posted by FBT at 8:06 am
4 Comments:
Isaiah Berlin, of whom I knew precious little until my brother put me on to his "biography" by Michael Ignatieff, was one of those enviable people who combined large brain with large social skills. Which makes me of course doubt that he really had a first-rate brain. Which, if people heard me say it, or sensed I felt it, would convince them of *my* airs and graces!
Oh! to have influence.
That more like it fbt,
must have been due to the feint waft of Hong Kong from your cardboard boxes.
So after being assesed did you smack saids scots twat in the moosh or what. He sounds like the sort of person who stops a group becoming little more than an accumulation of people and would be the fisrt into the sandwich come canaibal inclinations.
Ive have decided to abandon my blog as it struck me that my server gave where I came from away. The fact that I was being mildly critical of chaps who do FA in Hong Kong could upset some people leading to a loss of income.
I will therefore reinvent myself at home.
Do you girls really lust after rugby players, It must be a sexual thing as their brains are similar to Jupiter, mow mow
I'd play him too.
962,Lust after rugby players?Surely that's an understatement. I used to watch rugby solely for the purpose of enjoying the young Wilkinson - to the point I think my sweetheart actually started to notice. I've now broadened my allegiances (it occurs to me that my now-ex had an inverse notion of fidelity when it came to sport and women) and am quite happy to enjoy most nationalities.
Phiz, I wasn't by any means implying that that horse of a man was attractive - just that his long hair is a detriment to the sum looks points of the team. Although the Frenchie back row wasn't bad to look at.
When I have a spare moment I shall regale you with the story of Johnny W and 6' 4" hairy Scotsman, Hamish McTavish. But not now.
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