Today feels like this time last year. That is to say, that after months of pissing-down rain, the sun is finally blistering outside, whilst I am stuck in an office. Only, whereas last year's office included a chandelier, the current building boasts un-opening windows and dodgy air conditioning.(*May I interrupt at this point to say I have just spent about an hour illegally scripting a, frankly, genius blog, only for none of it except for the first, warm-up paragraph to save. This pretty much sums up the day, and I apologise for the sub-standard re-enactment that follows...)
However, in the words of Terry Wogan, I mustn't grumble. Back in those days, it was positively traumatic to have to drag myself onto a bus at the crack of my dawn to traipse into a whole different county, only to sit with the now-legendary Tiny & Jabbering Jane in their plush, yet pointless office suite. I am now so busy determining if the purple plums should be categorized as A or Z, I have no time to gaze lazily out of the frozen-shut window and daydream about the daydreams I could be dreaming next to my mother's stupendous frog-pond.
Which is why today has been so difficult. Having finished all my tree-shits by 10:30 this morning, I was more than tempted to claim the remainder of the fat, juicy day as my own. But maybe my nemesis (as she shall now be known, "Perky" is just too amicable) and her martyrs have been rubbing on me, or maybe (even worse) I have developed some horrible sense of responsibility. Either way, I stayed.
But the stinger (unfortunately not the organic, Hugh-Whirly-Girly variety) was as follows: I was in the midst of introducing our new lamb-to-the-tree-slaughter to the wondrous world of binding pleasure, when she was whipped, whipped, I tell you, from under my oddly formed nose. Out! Out went she! Out into the glorious sunbursts of fun. A tree expert swept her away to avenge (or condemn) trees in some far-flung, exotic location. Possibly Winchester.
But, wait, my avid reader! Wait! For what is already a terrible tale of sunless woe now takes an even darker plunge in to dark depths of dark. Nemesis came waddling over to me, in her cheap, wooden heels and drawled in her inimitable fashion that she would also be trailing off into the sunset, in the wake of her beloved tree-man. So flinging some overly-complicated-but-not-actually-that-complicated-if she-just-explained-it properly bit of her work in my direction, off she wobbled.
Bitch.
Which is why today has been so difficult. Having finished all my tree-shits by 10:30 this morning, I was more than tempted to claim the remainder of the fat, juicy day as my own. But maybe my nemesis (as she shall now be known, "Perky" is just too amicable) and her martyrs have been rubbing on me, or maybe (even worse) I have developed some horrible sense of responsibility. Either way, I stayed.
But the stinger (unfortunately not the organic, Hugh-Whirly-Girly variety) was as follows: I was in the midst of introducing our new lamb-to-the-tree-slaughter to the wondrous world of binding pleasure, when she was whipped, whipped, I tell you, from under my oddly formed nose. Out! Out went she! Out into the glorious sunbursts of fun. A tree expert swept her away to avenge (or condemn) trees in some far-flung, exotic location. Possibly Winchester.
But, wait, my avid reader! Wait! For what is already a terrible tale of sunless woe now takes an even darker plunge in to dark depths of dark. Nemesis came waddling over to me, in her cheap, wooden heels and drawled in her inimitable fashion that she would also be trailing off into the sunset, in the wake of her beloved tree-man. So flinging some overly-complicated-but-not-actually-that-complicated-if she-just-explained-it properly bit of her work in my direction, off she wobbled.
Bitch.
