Name AND Shame

Scott over at 'Everbody Laughed...' sent me this.

you're going to hate me but that's okay

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/llama

safe for work but not for sanity (needs sound)

It's driving me nuts and I can't stop singing it.

One of our drinking team last night queried why humans have the ability to remember inane bits of song, while forgetting the really important stuff.

After hearing this, you'll know why. It's a nice little concept called 'Hell on Earth'.

We've all got a scrap of songwriting talent in us (Tom Robinson said so, and I won't argue with Tom). Where most people fall down is in trying to emulate the best thing they've ever heard.

If we all were happy to write llama songs, there would be fewer frustrated songwriters in this world. And more crap music, but what price happiness?

Llama Llama Duck.

Some of my best friends are grown-ups...

...but I don't think blogs should be used to name and shame. So I won't name the person.

Digital tellybox now has a channel called 'Dave' on the grounds that most people know someone called Dave. I can't be arsed to check their facts here, but I shall use 'Dave'.

'Dave' did a degree in a subject he liked, and was lucky enough to get a job in his chosen field. He moved through a few jobs, liked where he ended up, and even got some freelancing. Then over the years, realised that the office politics were corroding his soul, and the freelancing could just keep him above poverty level. His chances of getting the best job in the office are a few years off, and he is fairly certain that his soul and sanity can't last that long.

So he is going freelance. So far so good.

Except last night his loving friends decided to help write the resignation letter.

How many ways can you tell an employer to stick their job? We came up with loads until 'Dave' pointed out they might have future work for him.

'In the words of the Great Freddie Mercury, "I want to break free" ' as an opening line was deemed inappropriate.

At the end of the night we waved him off with a hail of "Good Luck, Dave." People outside having a fag break joined in, as it was obvious he needed all the luck he could get.

So under the influence of real ale and Queen, he went off to write his letter. Hope I get to see a draft version.

Repeat after me...

"HE IS NOT YOUR DOG AND HE ISN'T STOPPING!"

Last night Bailey managed to negotiate a flight of stairs, get into my room and tried to jump on a bed about twice his height.

He was sooooo pleased with himself, not a bad effort for a short-arse with a leg bandaged full length. And a plastic cone round his head, as modelled by Gromit in his mugshot to the left.

I have to remind myself that (A) he shouldn't have been there and (B) it was 2am and any dog with such lousy timing has no place in my house.

HE IS NOT MY DOG AND HE ISN'T STOPPING...

Quick update on the visitor

The chipped bone that the Spanish vet passed off as inconsequential is in fact a great big lump of bone that needs to be screwed back in place. Our family vet is livid that the Spanish vet let a dog travel in that condition! We've seen the x-ray and it was gruesome. Just glad we'd made an appointment for the day after he landed for a check-up. No wonder he was quiet when he met the cats. No excusing the Spanish vet but Bailey's leg wasn't misshapen, just swollen. We could have waited a while for the swelling to go down, thinking all was fine. He's not a noisy complaining sort

So Patrick the Wonder-vet is currently pinning little Bailey back together. I've every confidence in him. He had to do the same to Tig when the Ginger Git managed to slide off a roof and land on three paws and one rear hock bone. Tig still has 'Barry Sheene' as a useful alias.

Visitor

James and Angie have decided to return to the UK, due to her mum's ill health. Fine.

My mother asked if I would mind their dog. Not so fine.

Anyways-up, the mutt ended up at my house on Friday. I made it quite clear to everyone concerned that if anything happened to my cats, I would make mincemeat out of anything four-or-two-legged that I thought responsible for harming them.

What do the Reservoir Mogs do? Adopt it as one of their own! After scaring it a little, just for fun.

Poor little hound, he'd managed to hurt his leg before being crated up. So he had a suspected chipped bone in his leg, jetlag, and was missing James and Angie. He was too much of a soft target even for them.

Jasmine did spend a bit of time looking like an outraged Furby, and Tig came down to wail a bit (and take a crafty swipe at poor Bailey at the same time). Greebo couldn't give a flying f...root loop about any of it.

Eric, as ever, was the star. From a lofty position on the kitchen workshop he made eye contact with the dog, stood on tiptoe and fluffed up to double size ALL IN COMPLETE AND VERY SCARY SILENCE. Poor dog was terrified. After that Eric ignored the new yapping peasant all night.

Gromit thought it was great to have another dog around. So Bailey is staying until James and Angie find somewhere to rent that will take him too. I think he's going to be around for a while...

Fireworks

It's that time of year that most pet owners hate. Some people have pets that stay oblivious to fireworks. Indeed, we had a bearded collie who used to sit in the garden and watch them.

My lot hate them. So we are now moving all the furniture to create hidey-holes for scaredy-cats.

Last night though, we had a family hug-in, all the pets huddled on the sofa to take advantage of the situation. No photo unfortunately - I was trapped between Tig and Gromit and couldn't move.

So far we have dark places to hide, radios on standby, a plug-in thing from the vet that is supposed to calm them down. Hope it all works...

The Accidental Brunette

Due to a slight misinterpretation of what 'Dark Golden Auburn' means, I am now a temporary brunette. It didn't look this dark on the box! Golden is well...gold, auburn is red and I took 'dark' to mean 'not Bonnie Langford'.

In the old Hollywood classics, the redheads were mostly ditzy and the brunettes were more intelligent and classy. As a fledgling brunette, I am suffering somewhat. This is going to be sodding hard work. Don't think it will last. Not with blonde eyelashes and eyebrows at any rate.

As the colleagues have kindly pointed out, it is a dark red. Not bad at all for winter plumage. And I can still lose my temper - just have to do it in an intelligent, classy and dark way.

As a black cat, Eric sees it as a good thing and has been my bezzie mate all week. He's 11 years old so he's seen it all before. Ginger Tig just keeps giving me puzzled looks, I've sold out from my ginger roots in all senses of the word. Jasmine and Greebo have seen that it doesn't affect the cat-feeding skills, and are not passing comment.

The New Kid on the Block

Little TJ is in the UK on a flying visit. Granny Karen has been in hospital, so Angie brought him over on Friday. James can't come over, not enough holidays accrued. So he's still basking in the sunshine, enjoying the quiet.

TJ is gorgeous, but my big sis Lyn doesn't approve of the idea of posting photos of him on the web so you'll have to take my word for it. She is still undecided as to whether she is a Gran, Granny, Nana or whatever. "Unfortunate Mother of James the Git" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue either.

In the meantime, enjoy this picture of a troll. It's not too far off the truth....

Man 'flu

In the interests of equality and all that, I've decided to turn my mild sniffly cold into a full case of man'flu.

Need...lucozade....nooooowwwwwww

Then just hand over the duvet, the remote and the paracetamol and bugger off.

Second toughest in the Infants

Here's the sort of fine establishment I work for!

We share facilities with another department, one person worked for both departments (paid by them; she preferred being with us!). She left two months ago.

Our merry little band was told to put our heads together and think up some new working practices, now there was one less person around.

We did. More fool us.

A few changes were made and approved, but while someone from the other department was on holiday. She came back, went ballistic, and trapped my manager at her desk, screaming and yelling about the changes. Talk about invasion of personal space! Like Dubya spotting an oil opportunity. If this individual had treated me like that, I would have whacked her between the eyes with a stapler, which is why I'm not in a management post. My manager stayed calm, but requested a meeting to sort it all out.

A meeting was called.

This person (who is nothing to do with us) turned the whole thing into a verbal personal assault on our manager, who left the meeting in tears, whilst our Head of Department and Project Manager sat by and let it happen. They chose not to mention that they had seen the changes, approved them and had done so with the agreement of the other HoD...

Both HoDs have come up with a new plan, but when our manager asked if we could be included in any discussions, she was told that if she didn't agree to all changes without question then it would become a disciplinary matter. And so concluded over a week of bullying for my poor boss.

So, that's what you get for working as a team, being resourceful and trying to improve your workplace. For doing the job she was supposed to do, a bright and competent manager has been reduced to a snivelling wreck on a disciplinary charge. While we are feeling like the lowest of the pond life, and the person who instigated the whole thing is off scott free and smelling of roses.

All the fun of the fair

Gromit has a new game.

I own a wonderful chair that belonged to my Auntie Alma. It is the most comfortable thing, managing to both rock and spin at the same time. Placed next to the fire, it is the best place to be on a cold Autumn evening.

So I believe; the cats have commandeered it.

Whilst playing a lively game of 'Fetch', Gromit ran into the chair and made it spin round, much to the fury of Jasmine. I know we shouldn't have laughed, but it was stupid and funny.

So now Gromit headbutts the chair whenever he passes, leaving the encumbent cat spinning like a nervous kid on the waltzers, too dizzy to retaliate.

Strangely, Greebo seems to enjoy it...