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Bloody tuesdays. I get in, and Alleged is down*, there's a typo in the weekly strip (actually a photo story -- following on from this one) and (it turns out) at work people have been ... Tiny Shiny Dykes in Parklifewell I'm not quite sure what you call it, actually. What do you call it, when the same people responsible for withdrawing funding and support a few years ago suddenly discover that the section covering their area of interest on your website isn't as good as the leading national website on the topic, and start bringing in "professional" designers and "commercial" firms to see what can be done about this ... and then, only then, decide to tell you that's what they're doing?

... not only that, but I'm just in bad dumps today. Don't know why, the world isn't particularly worse than it was yesterday. Richard Herring thinks it might be to do with magpies, though given the crowds of 16-odd magpies which seem to haunt my steps, not to mention the sordid threesome that hang out in our chimney pots, I'm not sure where that leaves me. Confused, probably. Speaking of which, he's playing the Bullingdon Comedy club tomorrow. I know, I know. Nobody cares but me.

a bad day to come out of hibernationYesterday, another small stinging insect crawled down out of the loft to join me. You'd think after the last time, I'd have learnt my lesson, and would just have killed it. But snow was falling, and I felt sorry for the bee that woke up too soon. The ceilings are due to be redone next month (so I'm getting moved downstairs to a desk next to the head of service for a fortnight, oh yeah) and word is (apart from dislodging 75,831 hibernating insects) they're putting in insulation. It'd be nice, the icy drafts have pretty much done in the weakest of my plants. But not the bee. Despite spending most of yesterday afternoon emitting a migraine-inducing barely-audible high-pitched keening I thought for sure meant it was dying, it yet lives, and is periodically making me jump half out of my skin by buzzing up to bang against the closed window. Doubly pointless; not only have the windows been irretrievably stuck closed since Adkins came in to see what they could do about the draft, but it's winter out there. Winter. Go to sleep, bee.

*It's up again now. And, anyway, it's flattering, kinda. But I just wish sometimes people would say that they liked things to me, rather than my having to infer it from echoes and effects. Edit: Actually it was just a power failure. Go me. Go, me.

Comments

( 14 worms — Feed the birds )
celestialweasel
1st Mar, 2005 11:54 (UTC)
The technical term for the behaviour of management that you describe is 'being a bunch of gits'. Other words may be substituted, obviously. It is a facet of British Management (capital M) and has made Britain what it is today.
I like to send deranged emails / texts to BBC 5 Live whenever some wanker from the CBI comes on talking about drug and alcohol testing of employees saying that the biggest threat to UK business is management stupidity and incompetence and when are they going to introduce compulsory testing for that?
Sometimes they even read my deranged rants out which proves how hard-up they must be for comments.
cleanskies
1st Mar, 2005 12:01 (UTC)
hahaha
They're not my management. Perhaps I should also add to the list, oh, and my managers knew at least something about this, but elected not to tell me. Actually, they probably just forgot, or I was away on the day they found out and they didn't think it was worth putting into a message.

I was away for two days last week, probably just punishment for taking holidays.
t__m__i
1st Mar, 2005 12:08 (UTC)
Yes I was going to use the word "wankers" actually.

I am sure Alan Sugar has many faults as do we all, but I was greatly cheered to see him dissing the CBI and Digby "whinger" Jones in a recent interview. No-one (bar him) ever seems to call them on their transparent b/s and I'm not really sure why apart from the inherent ignorance and laziness of many journos.
stylishbastard
1st Mar, 2005 13:54 (UTC)
Cheer up, cock. You have nice hair.
cleanskies
1st Mar, 2005 14:25 (UTC)
not even that
it needs cutting. or colour. or something.
sdn
1st Mar, 2005 13:56 (UTC)
motodraconis
1st Mar, 2005 14:00 (UTC)
I never knew the lives of Tiny Shiney Dykes could be so complicated. To be continued...?
cleanskies
1st Mar, 2005 14:24 (UTC)
'course
We've got to meet Grace and Gretchen yet --

In the Big Pink Chair

Not to mention Gretchen's hot clubscene girlfriend and Grace's radical knitter honey.

Probably ought to be putting it somewhere other than in the weekly strip's space, though.
jackfirecat
1st Mar, 2005 14:07 (UTC)
confused
Surely the dark haired one of the dog-owning couple is Alex? (Because the blonde has said to her, 'Alex, are you listening to me?') .. but then at the end the Blonde introduces herself as Alex. I suppose they could both be called Alex, but that would be confusing.
cleanskies
1st Mar, 2005 14:19 (UTC)
I mentioned a typo?
That's it. It's not an Alex and Alex couple. It's an Alex and Chris couple. But it was pretty late by then and I was worn out from swearing at my models. Still at least they aren't human, or they'd be swearin back.

I'll fix it this evening.
crazycrone
1st Mar, 2005 16:45 (UTC)
Could it be you feel crap because you are neglecting to say 'Good Morning, Mister Magpie' upon sighting a solo bad luck bird? (This is supposed to deflect the sorrow....)
cleanskies
1st Mar, 2005 16:58 (UTC)
I kiss my hand
instead. Country habit.
buddleia
1st Mar, 2005 17:36 (UTC)
I love your tiny shiny dykes. May they never entirely supersede the drawn stuff, because I love that best, but I do love them.
cleanskies
1st Mar, 2005 18:14 (UTC)
Thankyou, I really needed that.
( 14 worms — Feed the birds )