Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Wednesday, 20 July 2016
A to B
We aren't used to this heat. Everyone's getting fractious. A water-fight in a London park turned into a knife-fight yesterday, as I tried to catch up on sleep in the back of the Volvo.
Another trainee paratrooper died of being pushed too hard in the sun in the Brecon Beacons yesterday too, just as two did in exactly the same place last year.
I recieved a text from Network Rail warning me of cancelled trains to London because of the risk of derailment through buckled lines. Since they welded all the rails together to make the journies quieter, the expansion both ends of a 150 mile stretch must be measured in yards. I don't know.
Shippers are causing me the biggest problems right now. This is their job description: They are to take an item from one place and deliver it to another. That's it. How can they fuck-up so regularly?
The prospect of red sandstone dust sticking to all the exposed parts of my body (not the parts I used to want to expose) makes me reluctant to go to work again today.
As Winston Churchill once said, the conditions are always perfect for drinking Champagne.