Moan moan moan

Sorry, can’t help myself, a right old moan is required.

Bloody work. Here I am, supposed to be having my feet up. I’m about to bloomin quit, and things keep happening. This to fix, that to sort, suppliers to be calmed, or whipped depending, staff who are upset or not performing or or or. A million and one things to do. I am leaving the office at six instead of eight or nine, but its not exactly stress free.

You know what’s the worst bit? I’ve had to cancel days out to Goodwood, Wimbledon and Henley! Lots of suppliers doing a nice last thank you (well, and to keep the relationship going in the new job). Every time I get close something lands and I have to cancel. Mind you, one of those invites was from a supplier I had to then ask a favour of, and sort something out for, so they understood.

How’s a man to get his snout well and truly into the trough if things keep getting in the way? Hmm? Good thing there’s a lot of protestant guilt in the background to keep me motivated and working, else I’d just walk out. Bring on Saturday and a holiday.

Though its going to rain the whole time, just you wait. Bloomin weather…

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