Archive for November, 2008



The Station Manager

Two months ago we had the displeasure of meeting a brand new station manager. It stood beside our previous boss, and was dwarfed by him. In every sense of the word.

It was standing there, trying to look down at us rabble, but not quite managing it due to its, let´s say scarce height. Best next thing was not to make eye contact. When the supervisors were introduced to him its bulging eyes goggled at the ceiling, at the floor, at the walls, at his flies. Everywhere but us.

Shaking hands was out of the question; it would be demeaning to shake hands with so inferior a human race as supervisors. A little man full of its own importance, stuffed with mediocrity, standing as straight and upright as if it had swallowed a fishing cane, reeking of conceit, mean power and cheap lotion.

Its name is Mr. Silley, but it is known among us as “that one with his teenage son´s shirts”. A thing who despises its staff shouldn´t be surprised when its staff despise it in return. But the description is accurate; the pink checked shirt it wears day in, day out, seems to be bursting over its bulging stomach.

We knew we were in trouble; its first measure was to try to demote a handicapped supervisor. It failed miserably. The thing couldn´t touch her or her status.

But he could touch mine. I was demoted fast as lighting.

I didn´t look at it as if it was a Dog, and oh dear, I didn´t pay attention when it delivered the new Gospel.

“Blessed are the arse-lickers, for they shall inherit the supervision.”

Oh dear, oh dear.  I have the most terrible fault that such a man can find in an employee. I am not, I have never been, and I will never be, an arse-licker.

It cannot fire me; but it can make my life impossible, and it will.

I won´t wish it  good luck; a son of a bitch always has a bitch of a luck.


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The sky is leaden, grey clouds let fall onto the already soaked earth litres and litres of rain. Even the air is wet.

The only intelligent way to spend the afternoon is to dry up in front of the fire with a nice cup of tea and chocolate biscuits.

And a good film. And this is the film we chose. Needless to say, we ended up dancing in front of the telly.

Now I’m the king of the swingers
Oh, the jungle VIP
I’ve reached the top and had to stop
And that’s what botherin’ me

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A day in the life

Dawn paints a golden haze above the horizon

Warmth slowly melts the frozen drops of  dew

Alarm clock rings and I get up.

Kids wake up with sleepy faces

Cats look slightly interested from their cushions

Yawning and stretching their legs.

Sun rises over the distant forest

Kids leave home with their satchels and their books

I go for a walk with the dogs.

Beans and vegs boil in the pan

Chicken roasts in the oven

While I slice apples for a pie.

Everything is clean and tidy

With a cup of tea I watch the telly

Faraway places where you might wander.

Logs burn in the fireplace and darkness come

I check that everything is ready for next morning

and go to sleep.

It´s just another day without you.

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Crisis? What crisis?

axeIt is not yet winter but the weather is as cold as my boss’ heart. I decided it was time to fill the gas tanks and turn the central heating to full swing.

That was before I knew how much filling the gas tanks would cost. It’s more than three times what I paid last year. My wages are not three times what they were last year.

So it’s time for a strategical meeting with the kids. No more walking barefoot and wearing a tee shirt and capris in the middle of the winter (yeah, I know it is not technically winter yet). Put on your slippers and your pullovers, we’re not turning the central heating on.

It’s fireplace and blankets from now on. We need more wood, so let’s go to the forest and pick some more. Little red riding hoods will go to the forest to pick up wood.

But whatever wood lies on the leaf covered soil, it’s not cut into manageable chunks. To get wood cut into manageable chunks one has to chop it. And the only way to do it is to wield a battle axe.

Leonardo diCaprio was lucky I was not the one who cut his handcuffs while the Titanic was sinking. I would have cut his head.

I got some wood cut into more or less (less) manageable chunks, but now I know that I am not cut to be a woodcutter.

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Bedroom walls

My daughter has decided to redecorate her room. She has a room of her own, with soft pink walls and flowered curtains matching her duvet cover and pillowcases. She has a pink lava lamp (obviously for decoration) and her white and pink shelves are filled with Barbie dolls and teddy bears.

And suddenly the soft pink walls can be seen no more. They are covered now from floor to ceiling with posters, badgers, photos, badly cut magazine pages. All of them depicting the same people. A teenage group called Tokyo Hotel. Kids dressed in black, with impossible hair and eyes so heavily made up that they look like panda bears.

There is no space available on the walls now; so she has covered the ceiling with them too. And her wardrobe. Her bedside table.  Her desk.

Two Virgins

John Lennon, Yoko Ono

The effect is nightmarish, but I won’t be the one to complain. After all, I’m the teenager who hung this picture on her wall. My mother almost fainted when she saw it…. and still shudders when she remembers.

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Puck and Salem

No amount of time can erase the memory of a good cat, and no amount of masking tape can ever totally remove his fur from your couch. – Leo Dworken

Anyone knows who was him? He’s so right!

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I have just received a link from Manuel. He’s one of the most intelligent men I have ever met, and he has a really  wicked sense of humour – and I just love a wicked sense of humour.

And I love cats.


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