Friday, 27 March 2009
But there's one injustice, niggling away at me.
This crumbling edifice has a glorious past. Once upon a time, it was the mighty Peak Freans Biscuit Factory. For decades, the (custard) cream of British biscuit-making talent slaved away here, making and despatching the company's vast repertoire of biccies to Britain, the Empire and the World. Now, anyone who knows me knows I cannot resist a biscuit. So, what a cruel twist of fate it is that I, of all people, should end up working in a biscuit factory when all traces of the blithering biscuits have gone!
Ain't life cruel, sometimes?
Friday, 13 March 2009
Every time I vacate The Seat of Power, even for a few seconds, an occupying force moves in. Fellow "cat people" will understand that one of the methods employed by our feline associates to keep their human assistants on the hop is the random changing of the favourite resting spot. That hairy cushion, from which the cat has been inseparable for weeks, suddenly becomes So Yesterday and there's a new roost to rule. And right now, The Chair, is where it's at, baby!
I've had to resort to low cunning: wait 'til he's downstairs, eating, or nipping out to answer a call of nature, then bag my place on the chair. It works, of course, but within moments, he's back. He can't physically dislodge me from the seat, but there are other ways: a quick walk on the asdkfldfn/// keyboard, a long, langurous stretch in front of the monitor, head buffing the mouse-hand and, if all else fails, parking up on the desktop, delivering a long, baleful stare. He may not have the power of speech as we understand it, but the message couldn't be clearer.