... but I stopped. Now I'm a dad, and may blog again...

Sunday, July 28, 2013


I was at  work the other day (as I often am, what with it being a day job). For the sake of argument (it's too early in the morning for arguing) let's say it was Thursday and be done with it. So I was at  work the other day, where I was stacking shelves, moving stock, answering the same customer questions over and over, just generally doing the things that most writers really do instead of writing. It was a day like any other and I had woken up in not so great a mood and descended into full-on minor irritability as the morning progressed.  I was quiet, surly, grumpy, short-tempered, passive-aggressive, all that shit. Then at about 1.30pm just before lunch time I bent  down to pick up some small boxes which were sitting on the floor. Something happened which changed everything.

A sound. A terrible destructive sound. A rip in the fabric of time and space. A tear right up the arse of my trousers, when all morning I had been quiet and grumpy and therefore ill equipt to deal with such a catastrophe. So do you know what I did, how I reacted? That's OK cos I'm about to tell you. I burst out laughing. It immediately cheered me up. It was a spectacular demonstration of how petty my little mood was and how silly I was being in taking myself so seriously. An eye opener, a consciousness raiser, a religious and holy thing. Get it, holey. The air rushed in through the hole, or out through the hole, I'm not sure. Either way I felt a breeze and got a taste of that freedom called kilt. Glorious.

A bit of trouser triage, triarse if you will - a few moments alone in a toilet cubicle with a stapler and my modesty was hidden and my freedom was once again shackled. And now that I need to buy some new trousers I will be stocking up on skirts and kilts. And stocking up on stockings. Actually no, no stockings cos that's just more restrictive clothing. Plus I think my leg hair would look nasty squashed against my flesh and viewed through a thin denier, don't you?

The trouser tearing incident seems to happen every six months or so to someone at work, and this is the first time that someone was me. It's a milestone, and it was timely too. It cheered me up no end, being so unexpected and ridiculous. And no-one was around to see it so I was not captured for eternity on video to be laughed at. No, I have captured it for eternity willingly in words. Here.

I can't think of a way to end this blog post so here it comes abruptl-

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