What A Week
18/10/10 -- Spent a large chunk of last week out on the road, which is unusual for me and reminded me how much I used to dislike the daily commute grind.
Spoke to a room full of agri reps at a conference in Preston on Wednesday, staying over the night before. The hotel, nice though it was, could only have been closer to the M6 if it had actually been built on the hard shoulder.
As ever the room was rather hot, but given the close proximity to the motorway going to sleep with the window open was sadly not very realistic. Every man & his dog in attendance (except for moi) seemed to have varying degrees of "man flu". Sitting in a warm room full of reps oozing germs from every orifice, coughing, spluttering and one or two even compelled to doze off rather than hang on my every sage word.
There was just enough time to check a few emails on Thursday before heading off to the Hull Dinner. Basically a warm room full of traders with "man flu" oozing germs from every orifice. There was one red hot topic of conversation there, if only I could remember what it was.
Back home Friday afternoon, coughing and spluttering myself now, check a few more emails before an early finish. Time to relax, the kids went off to the local swimming baths leaving the delightful MrsN#3 and I for a nice peaceful Chinese meal from the local delivery service. Singapore fried rice and fillet steak Cantonese style, washed down with Lemsip. lovely.
Literally five minutes after ordering the Chinky (no offence to any Chinkies) the phone goes and it's the local swimming baths. Bear in mind that I've answered the phone here. "Oh, hello is that MrsN#3?"
What are they on about do I sound like a woman or something? What are they trying to insinuate here, exactly? My own newly acquired "man flu" means that my voice is several octaves lower than normal, so Christ what must I sound like normally? Joe Pasquale? Or maybe George has told them that his mother is Bonnie Tyler?
Suffice to say that George has split his head open, thoughtfully before even bothering to actually enter the pool. Ho hum.
By an amazing stroke of luck the Chinky is just around the corner from the hospital. So MrsN#3 goes into casualty with a profusely bleeding small boy, whilst I pop off round there to attempt to intercept our relaxing evening repast.
Of course, you can guess that the driver just left three nano seconds ago didn't he. MrsN#3 rings to say that it's only going to require a bit of "glue" and they'll be out in 20 minutes. But you know that they won't don't you.
Three hours later they emerge, with the Chinky stone cold and a now perky George wanting to know what he's having for tea. Bearing in mind it's now ten o'clock at night, and we still have to go and pick his sister up from her cousins up the road.
The entire household goes to bed hungry. Well when I say the entire household, I mean excluding the dog. A word of warning here, never give a border terrier Singapore fried rice and fillet steak Cantonese style if you should feel tempted to do so at some point in the future.
Still, every cloud and all that, MrsN#3 gets up first on a Saturday.
I decide that getting completely ratted is probably a smart move to throw the germs off and make them want to vacate my body at the first opportunity. For some unknown reason I decide to go on eBay, drunk, not a smart move. I put a bid of fifty quid in for a Mickey Mouse outfit and come within 23 minutes of owning Liverpool FC.
Spoke to a room full of agri reps at a conference in Preston on Wednesday, staying over the night before. The hotel, nice though it was, could only have been closer to the M6 if it had actually been built on the hard shoulder.
As ever the room was rather hot, but given the close proximity to the motorway going to sleep with the window open was sadly not very realistic. Every man & his dog in attendance (except for moi) seemed to have varying degrees of "man flu". Sitting in a warm room full of reps oozing germs from every orifice, coughing, spluttering and one or two even compelled to doze off rather than hang on my every sage word.
There was just enough time to check a few emails on Thursday before heading off to the Hull Dinner. Basically a warm room full of traders with "man flu" oozing germs from every orifice. There was one red hot topic of conversation there, if only I could remember what it was.
Back home Friday afternoon, coughing and spluttering myself now, check a few more emails before an early finish. Time to relax, the kids went off to the local swimming baths leaving the delightful MrsN#3 and I for a nice peaceful Chinese meal from the local delivery service. Singapore fried rice and fillet steak Cantonese style, washed down with Lemsip. lovely.
Literally five minutes after ordering the Chinky (no offence to any Chinkies) the phone goes and it's the local swimming baths. Bear in mind that I've answered the phone here. "Oh, hello is that MrsN#3?"
What are they on about do I sound like a woman or something? What are they trying to insinuate here, exactly? My own newly acquired "man flu" means that my voice is several octaves lower than normal, so Christ what must I sound like normally? Joe Pasquale? Or maybe George has told them that his mother is Bonnie Tyler?
Suffice to say that George has split his head open, thoughtfully before even bothering to actually enter the pool. Ho hum.
By an amazing stroke of luck the Chinky is just around the corner from the hospital. So MrsN#3 goes into casualty with a profusely bleeding small boy, whilst I pop off round there to attempt to intercept our relaxing evening repast.
Of course, you can guess that the driver just left three nano seconds ago didn't he. MrsN#3 rings to say that it's only going to require a bit of "glue" and they'll be out in 20 minutes. But you know that they won't don't you.
Three hours later they emerge, with the Chinky stone cold and a now perky George wanting to know what he's having for tea. Bearing in mind it's now ten o'clock at night, and we still have to go and pick his sister up from her cousins up the road.
The entire household goes to bed hungry. Well when I say the entire household, I mean excluding the dog. A word of warning here, never give a border terrier Singapore fried rice and fillet steak Cantonese style if you should feel tempted to do so at some point in the future.
Still, every cloud and all that, MrsN#3 gets up first on a Saturday.
I decide that getting completely ratted is probably a smart move to throw the germs off and make them want to vacate my body at the first opportunity. For some unknown reason I decide to go on eBay, drunk, not a smart move. I put a bid of fifty quid in for a Mickey Mouse outfit and come within 23 minutes of owning Liverpool FC.
