Almost six months to the day since 'Shit' the blog about dogs and unpleasant faecal matter, I dropped myself into some metaphoric shit by having the same intentions I had back in June. Then as now, I was bored so took the dogs for a different, much longer walk and it backfired.
That blog was about me sitting in the garden going slowly mad through inactivity; yesterday I was sitting in front of the monitor trying not to wish time away, so I pulled up (Classic) Google Maps and tried to find something a little different. I did. It was very different.
Also last year, I wrongly believed I'd walked 5 miles when I'd just walked 5km. This was an entirely different walk, but as I take the dogs out probably a minimum of 360 days a year that's not difficult to achieve. I also, initially, had no intention of walking quite as far as I did yesterday and on a day when the temperature was about 3 degrees and I was dressed up for Antarctica, from the moment I started to worry about getting from A to B, I should have stopped being such a twat and just turned around. Instead I walked up a cul-de-sac of industrial estate sized proportions and then all the way back - adding about ¾ of a mile to my journey and all because of some razor wire.
By the time I retraced my steps, I was saturated from sweating, my legs ached, my back was grumbling at me, I was covered in mud and I still had nearly ½ a mile to go. When I returned to the car we had walked according to the 'How far Did I Walk' website, a total of 3.87 miles - give or take a ¼ of a mile.
Now 3½ miles might not seem much to you, but in my condition, having sweated almost a third of my bodyweight away at only the halfway point of this fucking idiotic odyssey - while not in the same league as the Lodz debacle or other memorable walkabout episodes - it was enough to seriously fuck me up for the rest of the day, evening and most of today.
I also had an interview for a job today, working with autistic people. I didn't get it; I wouldn't have accepted it had I been offered. All through the interview and after, I felt like I'd been on holiday with a dominatrix and a real, honest-to-God, Medieval rack.
The reason I'm looking for a job is no reflection on the health of Borderline Press, but more to do with mine. Most people who know me are pretty sure I'm a wee bit mad; the thing is if I don't fill my days up with something more meaningful than emails, social media obligations and waiting for the next deadline to come around, whilst paying myself an almost laughable 'retainer', I am probably going to do something that involves extreme violence, lots of swearing and probably lots of guilt and recriminations.
I'm just so fucking bored!
So I'm looking for work. If you see any let it know about me. I'm not very good but I'm keen and reasonably able.
Getting plagued by nuisance calls? You'd think OfCom would be the people to go to, but no, they offer downloadable PDF files with 'easy' to follow guidelines if you're getting nuisance calls. If you think you might have been overcharged (anything from 1p to millions) you have an express service; but if some fucking shyster company phones you up on a daily basis and then hangs up without even speaking to you you have no real way of combating it.
What is the point of these Off-bodies if they can't help in the most simplest of things and why doesn't the government make it illegal for phone numbers to be sold to companies that will use your details to fuck you over?
Oh. Yeah, I forget sometimes.
Bad news about Edgar Froese - Tangerine Dream played a big part in my life in the 1980s.
I could go on a bit more about the usual shite, but this time I won't.