Forlorn.of.thee (fa'lo:n ŭv thē), p, my only strength and stay,forlorn of thee, whither shall I betake me, where subsist?
Paradise Lost by John Milton

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Neither sound nor fury...

It’s wet, it’s cold and I’m miserable. This damn company I work for should be closed and liquidated by now but no, it still gasps and the blood still flows through those CAT 6 cables. Me? Again, I’m the last one standing, I’m bored and there’s no reason to go into the office,..

So I work from home, work as in drinking too much coffee, snacking on the chips and chocolate. Wanted to mow the lawn but the weather has been crap, wet and windy. As luck would have it, my Victa has died and gone up to mower heaven (or hell). Still, I sent it to the doctor’s and hopefully the defibrillator can put that spark back.

Since I’ve started whinging, no point holding back. The company intranet’s buggered; the two stunning ladies at the front door turned out to be Jehovah Witnesses; the wine cellar’s dry and I’ve got a 7:00 pm phone conference which clashes with Two and a Half Men on the box.

At least I’ve got the mash and meat loaf ready for dinner…

Friday, October 1, 2010


One moment please.... waiting !