Parking's something of a problem when you work in the city centre. My place of employ might have a rather large car park but it's reserved for large, mainly silver, executive vehicles driven by bald men and, oddly, there's always a space for those that have been employed by the evil ship Northcliffe for mere weeks (they won't be here for much longer. But, then, neither will the rest of us). So, we have to do a lot of car-shifting, as invariably we end up on limited waiting parking zones circled overhead by hawkish traffic wardens. Today, having to shift the car, I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone and take in a trip to Argos on the other side of town during the relocation drive. Five minutes was all it took. And I came out to the parking ticket I thought I'd been driving around trying to avoid. Wonderful. Or, rather, extortion. Still, hands up, I did park on double yellows. I was asking for it.
Delivered a large chunk of the play to the theatre, so the weight of that's lifting a bit. It was around the same weight as the butcher's trolley I bought at Argos. How M, a vegetarian, can justify having a butcher's trolley in the kitchen is yet to be seen. Surely you have to carve up turkeys and pigs on the thing once you've made the investment? There's a space beneath for the many bottles of wine that we never get round to drinking. But, once they're on a shelf, maybe we will drink them and we can spiral into alcoholism in our nice big kitchen, then slump on top of the butcher's trolley. I've noticed that the play, which is on in May just in case you've disabled images to speed up the download of this extremely crucial blog, has got a mention on Hull FC's website and also appeared in the Yorkshire Post the other day. So, once again, the reality of it all is beginning to kick in. I'm not complaining, just getting the jitters a bit. I believe that Chantelle, the winner of Celebrity Big Brother, could well be offered the well-rounded female part I've written.
Listening: The Smiths - The Queen Is Dead
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