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Okay, so a month and a half ago (roughly) Sarah landed her membership advisor job with Edinburgh Leisure and I, being the wonderful husband that I am, accompanied her on her first proper morning on the job so that I could be her guinea pig. I’d be the first member she’d signed up without any supervision and therefore the one she’d make any hideous mistakes with – all she’d have to fear would be my usual cheeky chappy mockery, rather than irate customers storming out with steam evacuating their craniums via the lugholes. This first day was at Leith Victoria Swim Centre, the centre where she’s still stationed and a mere 10 minute cycle from the flat. However our nearest gym – Portobello Swim Centre – is but a 2 minute saunter from the front door so that morning was the only time I set foot in Leith Viccie’s.

Till today…

Now the gym here in Porty is all well and good. Fair enough I have no real basis for comparison since, as noted earlier on this blog, I used to have a chronic fear/hatred/contempt for gyms in general and had never really set foot in one. Since my induction lessons the facilities have seemed more than adequate, there being plenty cardio machines (treadmills, crosstrainers and the like) as well as more weight machines than I currently use in my programme. There’s enough of everything that I never have to wait to get on a particular machine and if the buttons are a little less than responsive or the wee TV sets behind them are stuck on a channel (or totally knackered) then that’s a minor detail. It’s not a problem. Why? Because gyms are purely functional, they exist solely to get you fit and the machines could be spikey, gear-ridden, steampunk monstrosities (in fact that’d be pretty damn cool) for all I care. Or so I thought.

Today I decided to go along to Leith so I could say hi to Sarah, hopefully brightening her day a little, and check out the bits and pieces over that side of town. Oh. My. Sweet. Fucking. Christ. The shiny! It burns! It’s like gym porno in that place, everything is super-new and super-hi-tech. The cardio machines have TVs and radios built into them, not to mention the fact that as you’re running/cycling/climbing it’ll plot your progress round a wee imaginary hill or racetrack. You can even select standard speed buttons on the the treadmill (set your own speeds for Walk, Jog and Run) so you can change pace instantly. I didn’t use any weights machines or equipment cause I do resistance training on odd days and this was a day off, but there was so much of it, it looked like the Terminator’s pleasure palace. Even the walls, windows and carpets looked brand spanking new, as if I was there on the opening day and was depositing the first drips of sweat on the hallowed surfaces.

Actually I probably had my hardest cardio workout to date just because I was so entranced by the graphics, the buttons and the shiny shininess of it all. But it’s wrong! A gym should be a place for honest hard graft, not for pretending you’re a sweaty airline pilot. Leith Victoria is a bimbo, an airhead, a whore! The whore of Gymylon! She’s Jenny Mcarthy to Portobello’s Julianne Moore. A bourgeois den of iniquity compared to Porty’s proletariat paradise. It’s all flash with no substance (well, technically more substance as well as the flash) and as such will probably corrupt the youth, erode our most cherished values and, I dunno, unleash some new kind of supercancer with huge muscles for good measure.

The thing is, as much as I know it’s wrong and no good can possibly come of it ever, ever in a million gazillion years…

I wanna go back…

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Woohoo, after a lengthy hiatus the mighty Kiltreiser are set to hit the road once more. For the uninitiated, Kiltreiser is not only my handle on this blog but is also the name of my band, the hardest-working three piece in the whole universe of mock-metal. Personal issues have kept us safely away from the unwashed, huddled masses for almost a year but on November 30th we’ll be rocking the living shit out of The Ark on Waterloo Place in Edinburgh.

I believe we have the headline slot since we organised the gig but that’ll probably be decided on the day. Taking the stage with us will be some good friends of ours: wild ‘n’ wacky Wildtype; the fast, furious and fearsome Fireside Aliens; and one other as-yet-unnanounced tribe of troubadours. We’re hoping for Iron Maiden or Suicidal Tendencies but they aren’t answering our calls for some reason – must be on tour in a jungle with shit reception…

Anyway, for those Edinburgh-based readers of this blog please come along and wave your hands like you just don’t care. In fact, wave them in the air like you really DO care.

Kiltreiser. The sound of an quadrospazzed generation.

Just back from the gym, slightly knackered but feeling generally good. How on earth did this happen? As anyone who knows me will testify I have never been much of an active person. I mean I used to swim and ski a lot when I was younger but since leaving school my main exercise consisted of dancing while on too many amphetamines and making pathetic attempts to run for buses.

This all changed when Sarah mentioned the Pedal For Scotland event which I foolishly (in a misguided gesture of love, cameraderie, etc) decided to sign up for. It all started with training for the event, mostly cycling east along the coast, gradually increasing my distance and noticing that I was no longer out of breath after reaching the end of the promenade. All of a sudden strange growths began appearing on my legs, elongated tumours that I hadn’t seen for about 10 years – Sarah says they’re called ‘mussels’ or something like that, something seafood-related anyway.

Then Sarah landed her job with Edinburgh Leisure, meaning that I was now eligible for a membership at a host of gyms at a vastly reduced rate. Now I have never ever ever been a fan of gyms despite, I admit, never having set foot in one until about two months ago. However, this new-found discovery that I wasn’t fated to be an out-of-shape couch potato for life made me curious so I signed up and whaddayaknow? I actually liked it. I’ve got a cardio and weights programme all worked out for me and I’m about to start pushing stuff up to the next level. I’ve lost some flab from all kinds of places and these tumour things are sprouting up all over the place. I feel generally much better than I did before, much more active, confident and generally spritely.

One of the weirdest things is that I actually enjoy the exertion, one of the main things that kept me away from serious exercise before. I only ever used to break into a sweat for two reasons, namely if I was in:
1 – Trouble
2 – A Catholic School playground (sorry, poor taste)
Now, however, I’m gladly exhausting myself pretty much every chance I get. In fact I feel all bored and restless when I can’t get to the gym, a most bizarre situation. Anyway, long may it continue!

On an unrelated note I’ve also been thinking about getting a new tattoo, a huge one on my back to rival Sarahs masterwork which I’ve been jealous of since I met her. It’s taken me ages to think of what I’d like to get and didn’t want to rush it in any way, preferring to wait till exactly the right thing came along. Well I was browsing ScienceBlogs the other day (I’m a geek, deal with it) when this beauty hit me right between the eyes.

How cool is that?! Now I could never just steal someone else’s tatto so I’m going to spend some time thinking about it, gathering other ideas, talking to the local tattoo shop and generally fannying about till it’s exactly what I want. I picture it being the same kind of style (the bold black lines) but adding some more colour and texture into it for variety. The head of the beast should be around the nape of my neck with the tentacles to the side exploring around my shoulderblades. As well as that I’d like the tentacles to extend further down, especially in the centre (i.e. down and around my spine) and also to try and get some H.P. Lovecraft influence in there – that’s right, Cthulhu motherfuckers! The local tattoo guy’s eyes were lighting up as I described my current thoughts on what I wanted so hopefully he’ll help come up with an absolute stormer. As soon as I have any more ideas or preliminary arrtwork I’ll post it here for your viewing pleasure. God knows how I’ll finance it though, probably have to get into this ‘crime’ business I keep hearing so much about. (Crime doesn’t pay? If not then why bother making it illegal? Stands to reason it’s worth a shot!)

Anyway, I’ll leave you with two recommendations before you go off and enjoy the weekend while I work this evening from 5 till closing time. First is that you go out and buy/stay in and download some tunes by The Gotan Project. Can’t remember how I stumbled across this but it’s well worth a shot if you fancy something different, essentially tango music but incorporating lots of samples and dance beats. Some of it is up-tempo, funky and makes you want to grab a rose ‘tween your teeth and tango the night away, other parts are more chilled and atmospheric and generally make you want to drink expensive red wine and smoke constantly in a sexy Spanish stylee.

The second recommendation is that you watch this quick clip. I don’t care if you don’t like Star Trek – neither do I – because this made me laugh so hard at one point that the laptop almost de-lapped itself. Enjoy!

As noted in previous posts I’m currently bringing in some small amount of cash in the pub downstairs from the flat, The Espy, while waiting for something more financially viable to crop up (Games Tester for Rockstar North? The application is already in!). While the pay may be abyssmal I actually really enjoy the work; getting to chat to punters, enjoy the atmosphere and generally have a laugh with colleagues is such a great change from sitting in front of a screen and getting yelled at by subhuman clients and moronic bosses all day.

Now to give you some background, The Espy opened it’s doors a few months ago and we were really interested to see how well it would fare, especially given the chequered past of that particular premises. In the three years we’ve been here it had seen two previous owners, both of whom operated it as a run-of-the-mill boozer (crap food, crap music, big telly for football, unfriendly to kids and families, etc) and consequently neither of them lasted past the summer. From what we’ve heard that’s actually an improvement on past performance – previous incarnations have been described in terms similar to Mos Eisley from Star Wars (“wretched hive of scum and villainy”) and the building’s reputation was such that it even featured in a Rebus novel and TV adaptation. Unfortunately we were elsewhere when Ken Stott and his team of coppers were filmed skulking through the back garden en route to raid the place (seriously!).

Anyhow, back to modern day. Gareth and Amanda, the co-owners, have taken a run-down pub with no clientelle and a terrible reputation and worked some kind of a miracle on it, turning it into the most happening place in Portobello. The food there is incredible and word has spread about it so rapidly that with next to no advertising or media exposure it’s already at the point where we are turning people away left, right and centre from Thursday to Sunday unless they have a reservation. IMHO the reasons for this are Amanda’s huge attention to detail, the atmosphere that has been created and the family-friendly nature (it’s more of a cafe by day, restaurant by night which happens to also sell booze).

Now although things are currently going well the acid test is going to be how well we do over the winter months; it’s easy to run a beach pub when the sun is shining but once the wind picks up it’s another story. To that end a projector screen has been installed to allow us to show movies (absolutely NO television though, especially not sports) and we’re looking for ways to best utilise this and other ideas to keep the business steady till it warms up again in 9 months or so.

Here are some of the ideas so far:

Music – Okay, this already happens, but it’ll happen a lot more. Chirpy cheery local bands to get people buying beers (without annoying the neighbours)

“Cheesey Tuesdays” – Amanda’s current brainchild. Basically you pay £X for a ticket and are treated to a selection of speciality cheeses and liquors/wines along with a classic cheesey 80s film. Will be limited to 12-ish per night as that’s all the comfy seats we can fit in front of the screen while allowing space to eat and drink!

Hallowe’en – An obvious one, just showing some scary films and, if my plans come to fruition, getting the staff’s faces painted by the tattoo studio up the road.

Beers ‘n’ Steers – My idea, probably a one-off but could be repeated with other genres. Your ticket money gets you a Man-Burger (James’s invention which is basically just burger and chili in a bun), a manly beer and a Western. Maybe even offer a choice of Westerns so people can go for classics (The Good, The Bad And The Ugly), more modern fare (The Quick And The Dead) or comedy (Blazing Saddles of course). Please note that I will quit if Wild Wild West is even mentioned. We already have some novelty cowboy hats in the bar but maybe punters could get a free extra pint if they bring their own?

Christmas – Feel-good Christmas movies, mince pies, mulled wine, etc. An easy one.

Does anyone out there have any other suggestions? Basically anything I come up with will get me brownie points, bonus pints and possibly even the holy grail of more shifts. Any ideas welcomed as long as they don’t involve porn or weird communist-era Czechoslovakian animation. And I think they’re already planning to serve White Russians for the inaugural screening of The Big Lebowski

Okay – so I’m 32, an IT/Marketing professional by trade, married and with a mortgage roughly the size of Tom Cruise’s ego and general oddness combined. Does that really make it a bad thing that I enjoyed my first day working in a bar/restaurant for roughly a decade so much? Or that I’m really pleased that I just bumped into the owners as I came home from a brief bike ride and was offered 2 more shifts over the next few days seeing as another member of staff has just disappeared?

On Monday I was in for a trial day and I must admit I was absolutely cacking myself, dreading that I might have forgotten how to do something as simple as carry more than one plate at a time or that I’d do a Fawlty Towers-esque stumble and end up spilling hot soup all over the Lord Provost’s wife’s brand new dress. More than that any screw-ups would be twice as awkward seeing as it’s our local and I’d have to show face again at some point after being fired.

The start of the day was something of a blur, as expected. It was a 12 till closing shift so it was pretty dead but there was plenty to learn – how to work the till and coffee machine, how the kitchen likes their orders presented, where everything lives, all the usual bits and bobs. This was fine except for the fact that it was so quiet that once I was shown how to do anything I didn’t get a chance to actually do it myself so it was forgotten 30 seconds later. Actually taking all of this stuff in after a night of getting no sleep was incredibly tiring so come 4 o’clock well, it was meant to be 4 but closer 4:30) I was incredibly glad for my break.

90 minutes have never passed so quickly…

And on to the evening shift. Now before Gareth and Amanda opened The Espy there had been a series of owners who barely lasted a summer each and generally made a pig’s arse of the place. These two have seriously turned it around with a bit of attention to detail and some stunning food so even on a cloudy driech Monday it can still get much busier than you’d expect. This was when it all came flooding back to me, the fun of getting the chat with random people for a few minutes at a time, the appreciation you get for good service, the non-stop compliments about the food. I was working harder, physically anyway, than I had done since getting back from Australia* in 1999 or whenever it was, but I was still loving it.

There are so many reasons to love working there. The staff are a good laugh, it’s a chilled out place, the clientele are a sound lot, I get a free amazing meal if I work a 12hr shift, I get all the coffee I want (even when I’m not working!) and, of course, it’s right downstairs. But more than that, and similar to the English teaching work, it actually makes you feel good to do it. You’re actually interacting with human beings and making them happy, not just generating more cash for mannerless, pig-ignorant, unimaginative, intolerant clients. You’re actually moving around which must be, in some small way at least, vaguely good for you rather than sitting staring at a screen all day, only interrupting the boredom with occassional expeditions to the coffee machine.

Now maybe I’m being too hasty. Maybe I’ll get tired of the work pretty quickly. Maybe too many late shifts will mean I don’t get to see the lovely Aarayan as often as I want/need to so I’ll be forced to quit. And I’m all too aware of the fact that they’re trying out a lot of new staff just now, and that the majority of those people will have more extensive and more recent experience than me (last time I worked in a restaurant there was no such thing as those card machines you bring to the table, trufax).

Still, it’s better than I could have hoped for and right now I’m just so glad not to be doing what I was before. Come Sunday I’ll let you know whether the magic has worn off :p

*Any Aussie readers, particularly Melbournians, will recognise the name ‘The Espy’. Yes, it’s named after the famous Espy in St. Kilda, Melbourne. I stayed in Melbourne for 9 months when I was in Oz and enjoyed the pleasures of the Espy more times than I can remember – literally, it’s a very hospitable place! A veritable rock institution, it plays host to all manner of local bands as well as big touring names. My favourite bit of trivia, vaguely remembered through a decade-old drunken haze is that a cerytain Mr Samuel Langhorne Clemens (aka Mark Twain for the philistines among you) once popped his head through the door back in the day. That fact alone makes it a mandatory pitstop if you’re ever in that hemisphere. Maybe that little bit of chat helped seal the deal with Amanda when I asked about jobs 🙂

Well as you all know we are currently most definitely NOT in Thailand and I’m not teaching Thai people how to speak English. Which is a shame. Right now I should be in some idyllic little beachside classroom, probably made of palm trees and bamboo with hot and cold running coconut milk while Sarah learns how to beat people to a pulp quicker and more efficicently. Instead we’re facing the daunting, depressing and downright difficult task of finding jobs to tide us over back in the good old U.S. of Scotland.

Luckily I managed to find myself some temporary part time work with an English teaching school in Edinburgh and have just finished my first week of classes, albeit only about 16 hours worth. Now, the course which I took a couple of months back (Trinity CertTESOL, well worth it) mainly prepared me for teaching groups of learners, usually about 6-8 of them, of various backgrounds, nationalities, ages and abilities. There was a single 1-on-1 lesson which was not even observed, just a small part of a needs analysis exercise. I kinda liked that set-up; the groups are large enough that you can give them group/pair activities so you can get a breather but not so large that people ever struggle for your attention or get out of control. It was quite relaxing really, just a small group of friends doing what they do.

Not this new workplace. Oh no. They were quite specific when I asked them what sort of classes I could expect. “Almost always 1-on-1. Almost always German and fairly advanced. Almost always businessmen wanting to improve their business English specifically.” Oh joy. Nothing against Germans or businessmen, it’s just not exactly a scenario that screams fun and relaxation or even remotely hints at being interesting. Turns out I was wrong though.

First pupil was head of marketing for a Scandinavian branch of a large Japanese car manufacturer, i.e a fairly big hitter in a pretty tough job. He was looking to improve his English comprehension to help him keep up in meetings with counterparts from Germany, Japan and other assorted far-flung countries. Now, I had no idea how to do this, no previous experience of this sort of thing whatsoever and was, to be blunt, shitting m’self.

Turns out though that the best way to deal with this sort of thing is just to have discussions, keep them talking and just correct them as they go along, occassionaly focusing on persistent problems. This I can do. And this fella – he liked to talk. I now know more about this particular car manufacturer than I ever thought possible, from their marketing strategies to their corporate culture to the way they stack up against their various rivals. Not only that but we covered the con that is bottled water, the foolishness and dangers of political correctness and even the concerns regarding racist political parties (BNP style) in his home country. I must admit that, despite these sessions being exceedingly tiring and at times quite difficult, I was genuinely sad to see him go at the end of my three days teaching him.

For my next shift I was given a single lesson, filling in for another teacher who couldn’t make it, with another learner requiring comprehension and general practice to brush up her extremely rusty English. More discussion-based lessons? Winner! Except this time it was even better. My pupil was a German journalist who was previously based in Brussels and covered all matters EU and NATO but was preparing for her imminent departure to Afghanistan to cover military operations there. Now that is just a goldmine as far as chat goes and for four hours we had a ball, covering everything from things to do in Edinburgh and the general and political history of Scotland to the Iraq/Afghanistan situation and the internal workings of the EU. By the end of it my brain was bulging from all the stimulation and new information (and also becaiuse of my immense hangover from the grand opening of the pub downstairs the night before).

Unfortunately I don’t currently have any more shifts lined up although I’m keen to get back to it if the previous two are good examples of your typical student. In the meantime it’s back to the job pages with occassional detours involving The Dark Knight, learning some tunes with Sarah (for our rash/genius new pub covers duet idea) and practicing with me band for the first time in about a year.

Not in Thailand. Still having fun though.

EDIT – Just been to the pub downstairs and it looks like I might be returning to bar/restaurant work after a hiatus of over a decade. Got a 12-12 split shift trial on Monday to see if I can still do this stuff. It’s gonna hurt but at this point money’s money…

As aarayan has mentioned we’ve finally clawed our way out of the Hell Of Incompetent Tradesmen and emerged into the sunlight, bloodied but unbowed. After unbelievable delay and the most incredible excuses – including “I was at my Solicitor’s all day waiting to sign missives” – the floors are finally finished to a satisfactory if less than stellar level. What could we expect though? The job was done for free and we only asked for it to be touched up, we weren’t expecting miracles.

Not that it matters though; the rest of the flat, thanks largely to Sarah’s Herculean efforts, looks utterly amazing, to the point where it’s going to be damn difficult to actually part with the place. The rooms are dressed, all the walls and woodwork painted, curtains hung, new doors varnished, the works. On that note, if you are ever faced with the dilemma of whether to wax or varnish new doors I highly recommend the latter – waxing the buggers is a pain in the arse of Joe Pasquale proportions. Anyway, we are having the flat photographed and measured at the end of this week with the aim for hitting the market the week after. If it doesn’t sell quickly and for a decent price I’ll be amazed (not to mention panicked and depressed 🙂 ).

So we’re finally free to relax and actually do some enjoyable things for a change. I’ve got a packed diary over the next few weeks and can’t wait to get stuck into it. This weekend coming is Dead By Dawn, the annual horror film festival running from Thursday night to the wee small hours of Monday morning; booze, caffeine, shit food and sleep deprivation are the order of the day, with a touch of wifely disapproval on the side. The next weekend brings a trip up north to see the in-laws and hopefully witness some overbearingly cute interaction between Meg and Cara, both of whom are apparently getting on like a house on fire after a rocky start. Finally the weekend after that is a friend’s 30th and he has booked out a self-catering hotel in Grandtully. I’ve been there a couple of times before and it’s a great place – you’re own bar with no closing time, mountains of chili, rafting and paintball nearby, generally a paradise for overgrown boys.

Man, it feels good to be able to chill out for a change.

PS – Best mention something about Thailand. This’ll do…

Well, they came on Saturday and covered half of the floors in varnish. Did they do a good job? Well, they did exactly what it says on the tin but to be honest the kitchen floor still looks like shit. Never mind, we could always tell them that on Sunday morning when they come to finish the rest. Except…

Of course they didn”t turn up. How could we possibly expect them to get out of bed for us on a Sunday? Except for Mark saying “We’ll be there on Sunday to finish the other rooms”? So Sarah called/texted them (they have an aversion to actual vocal contact with customers apparently) and laid the smacketh down, saying that they’re fired, we’re going to their competitors and we’re going to spread the world about their level of service. Cue much wailing and gnashing of teeth from Mark so now they’re on their Last Chance Ever. Tomorrow they come to finish, they’re doing it completely free of charge and I’m taking a day off work to make sure it’s done properly and completely*. We’d have gone for someone else straight away but we’re really tight for time now so we need it done ASAP.

If it doesn’t happen then we already have someone lined up to finish the job and believe me, they’ll get the full story about how we’ve been dicked around. How we’ve been living in a bombsite for 10 days because of Able Flooring. How we’ve shelled out over £100 in kennel fees because of Able Flooring. How we had to put Sarah’s mum up in a B&B at the cost of £60 because of, you guessed it, Able Flooring. And Able Flooring will find out what happens to Google search results when someone writes repeated blog posts containing their name and manages to get some decent links to the posts from other blogs and websites. What do you know, I actually learned something after spending 6 years at an internet marketing company.

Last chance boys, best make it count…

* Okay, so I’ll mostly be playing Warcraft and drinking coffee. It’s a day off, I’ll do what the hell I like 🙂

Well, Sarah phoned the flooring fucknuts constantly yesterday, probably averaging over one call and text per hour, till finally giving up at 9pm. No replies whatsoever, no indication that they were going to turn up at all. We made the decision that I would wait till 8:30 to see if they turned up and, as expected, there was no sign of them. Before leaving I gave them a final call saying I’m on my way to work, I have spare keys with me but the first thing I’m doing on reaching the office is looking for one of their competitors to take over.

Surprise, surprise, I get a text within a minute saying they promise they’ll be there tomorrow. What? Are we meant to think their promises are worth anything at all after a week of “I promise we’ll be there tomorrow”? Well, he says he has no other jobs tomorrow so this is the last chance. We’re particularly unhappy because Sarah’s mum is staying over tonight after graciously agreeing to pick up Cara and Sari and look after them for a year. Looks like we’ll have to spring for a B&B for her, otherwise she’ll be sleeping on the floor. On top of that we have people coming to do the windows tomorrow so they’ll be getting under each others’ feet.

Able Flooring are going to pay for this if they ever turn up – they’re only charging us £150 altogether for materials but they’re damn well going to refund us everything we’ve had to spend in terms of kennels and accommodation over the past week. Will do another update tomorrow when, hopefully, the flat will be in a liveable state and we’ll almost be at the point where we can put it on the market.

Grr. Anger, etc.

On the bright side me and Sarah were able to go to Lanna Thai in Musselburgh for a lovely meal yesterday since we didn’t have to move furniture. Chicken Panang is truly one of the most awesomest dishes I’ve ever had and we sampled a really light, crisp Thai white wine. The staff there are incredibly friendly (Sarah’s Thai skills helped!) and the only bad thing about the place is that they don’t do the fabled Banana Roti. Can’t wait to get out to Thailand, I’m going to come back looking like Ric god-damn Waller. Oh yeah.

Then don’t use Able Flooring of Pilton Avenue in Edinburgh. Seriously.

These guys sanded our floors months ago and over the course of time Cara managed to claw them to pieces, hence the need for us to call them up to get the varnish renewed before selling the flat. It turns out that what we had experienced was far from normal wear and tear, rather they’d been experimenting with a new brand of varnish which had turned out to be utterly useless. At least they admitted this and offered to do the job for the cost of materials since it was never done properly in the first place, a saving of £1k+ is pretty handy right now.

The job was meant to be done last week. It’s still not done.

They cancelled initially due to a driver being in hospital and have since fobbed us off again and again. Today I was an hour late for work because they failed to turn up on time, only to claim that they didn’t know I was waiting for them. How the hell did they expect to get into the flat? Now they’re saying it’ll be tomorrow but I’m not holding my breath. We’ve been living in a bombsite for the past week because of these guys, all our non-stored furniture is piled up in the living room and we’re sleeping on a mattress on the floor.

Part of me says to go more easy on them because their boss, who’s actually a nice guy, is under a lot of pressure and is having staff problems. Meh. Those problems are his, not mine. My problem is that I’ve been kept waiting for a week, Sarah has nowhere in the flat to properly chill out after work and we can’t get other work done till this is out of the way. That is very much his problem too. Will post again tomorrow if they up. If they don’t it’s clobberin’ time…