As Roger mentioned recently I am now get paid for doing this kinda stuff.
All official like. Not here mind. This is for fun. Or 'The Sex' according to one theory.
Anyway, the worst part about it is - and this really does depend on your point of view - I do my best writing at night. I always have done and, until I work out what it is about burning the midnight oil that produces such creativity, I always will.
This post however, this post, is written in the morning. At 11am on a Saturday morning in fact. Why?
Well that'll be because I was woken up at 10am on this Saturday morning...
Allow me to explain:
Yesterday, for some ungodly reason, I was managed to be awake for around 22hrs.
Rounding off the day at about half 4ish in the A.M. by putting some finishes touches to a document I'm working on for my employer.
"It's Saturday tomorrow.. I can lay in" ...I think to myself, all smug like.
So...
I'm laying in bed. Asleep.
Dreaming of walking through a field..
Listening to birdsong and appreciating the wildlife when all of a sudden a cow turns to me and says: Ding dong.
"S'funny, cows don't make that noise..."
A synapse goes off in my head and I make the connection of the sound with that of my doorbell. I ignore it. It's Saturday, I'm not expecting anyone, it's probably the postman...
I'll just roll over and go to sleep.
Ding dong
"Grr..." - Maybe they'll go away in a minute. Ding dong
RIGHT! (and also just so you know, at this point, I have no idea what time it actually is) I'm going to have to answer it, DAMMIT!
Whoever it is it must be important and they're clearly not... Ding dong ....ARRRGH! ...they're clearly not going to go away.
I run around trying to find my dressing gown. I have two now having recently got one for Christmas. Can I find either? Can I balls. I throw on a pair of jeans quick.. run... Ding dong "ALRIGHT ALRIGHT!" ..down the stairs... aaaaaaaaaaaaaand...
I am greeted by a small woman and what may or may not have been her husband..
Both of whom I could only best describe as being... European.
And thinking on it. Scrap that. They didn't even _actually_ greet me.
*She* was straight to the point...
(he didn't say a bloody thing - just stood there looking dopey).
EuroBag: "Excuse me, are you the person that keeps putting their rubbish in our bins?"
Me: Err... "What?"
Realisation slowly dawning that it is in fact very cold and I am standing on my doortstep in nothing but a very raggedy pair of jeans...
EB: "It is just that someone has been putting their rubbish in our bins and now there is no room for any of our rubbish to go into our bins. The dustman are here now... "
I look up. Yep. They're here.
"... and I do not know if you know but recently they have changed the day on which they collect the bins, they no longer come on a Thursday they come on a Friday. They have come today which is Saturday because of holidays and now they are here they will only take rubbish from front verge, this because there is new contract with Council and old dustmen, old dustmen used to take the rubbish from bins in garden out back but new dustmen, these dustmen, will only take rubbish from verge on front grass. On Friday mornings we have to put rubbish out for new dustmen. So if you have any rubbish you should put it out now for the dustman or put it out on Friday because that is when the dustmen come now."
I swear she did *not* pause for breath... and it doesn't seem like she actually said that much now that I've written it down but trust me; this woman would *not* shut up.
Throughout this entire 'exchange' - (ha) - I've been slowly waking up whilst trying to nod in the right places etc... at the same time trying to deny all knowledge of 'bin-gate' (when in fact I know full well it's me.
The bins are always sodding full so I just stick my rubbish in the nearest empty one.
It doesn't *actually* matter who's rubbish goes where, all the bins get thrown out eventually...
Well... it turns out that this in fact may not be the case and would explain why my bin is always full. I actually have to take it out.
So I'm standing there, in just a pair of jeans, clearly only having just crawled out of bed because of the idiots in front of me ringing my door bell at 10am on a blimmin' Saturday morning and this woman actually expects me to give a flying fudge about her sodding bins.
And what did I do?
WHAT DID I DO IN MY INFINITE wisdom?!
I said: ".... er.. thanks, bye."
I then closed the door, climbed up the stairs, stubbed my toe on the top step, (nothing worse than stupid, half-awake injuries), got back into bed and tried woefully in vain to try and get back to sleep...
*sigh*
James
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