Toilets

Never far from the public conciousness and never far from mine. I was in one only this afternoon.

As an Old Dukie, the modern cubicled, workplace loo is a thing of beauty. A gap of only a few inches at the bottom is sheer luxury to one who remembers the Dyrms loos where a bit of door just about covered the gap between your navel and your manboobs. Still, after all this time, there is still much to moan about.

Its a desperate Neil that bares his behind to the bacteria-coated porcelain. This momentous event usually accompanies some sort of stomach upset or a morning curry ( I work 2pm - 10pm), so its nice when I get to pick the one nearest the wall in an otherwise empty facility. There I sit. Five cublices to the right of me and only the electronically timed flush of the urinals to keep me company. I may even whistle a Billy Joel tune if the mood takes me.

Then it happens.

In comes the scum of the earth and without hesitation they noisely select the one next to me. In the name of all that’s holy. WHY??!?!?

They drop their trousers and slap their insensitive, perverse and as would soon be made clear, inhumanly noisy arse on the lav next door. Mere inches from myself begins the chorus of the damned. This bizarre individual is seemingly not blessed with the same social reservations as my good self and lets rip.

At about this moment, I realise I have been listening to this for about 10 minutes and press on with my own affairs.

Still. The cretin always leaves with the merest use of tissue paper and seldom washes his hands.

..she’s been living in her uptown world….

Pain In The RSI

It’s been decided that we will all be exercising at work. Twice a day. Stretchy hand and silly, wavey back exercises.

There we all stand. Looking like fools, especially the 37 year old, overweight ones.

Now I know what 30 deaf people would look like in a disco.

Categories: Age, Health, Work
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