Monkey butlers

If a workplace can spend some money on something, it should be monkey butlers.

Sure, they can cook us lunch and fill a building with peanuts for our entertainment. But there is a lot of merit in giving them some serious shin-kicking duties.

Pretend we're in an office.

If monkey butlers have a shin-kicking quota which is directly proportional to so-called productivity, every time someone (The Corporation) is pointlessly mean to someone else (Mr Joe Public) just to make more cash, they get a kick in the shins. If someone deserving is let off, despite it meaning that everyone works harder to meet their targets, the butler cooks them lunch and brings them a Belgian beer at the end of the day.

Thus, the monkey butlers will maintain the natural order and can be our conscience. And, a post-butler government objection response can now say:

"Whilst we are not provided with a discretion under the Act to remit these amounts, I hasten to assure you that the responsible officer has had his beard severely pulled by a Barbary macaque."

Either way, the Man (be thankful he don't take it all) can no longer get away with hitting up cancer-stricken pensioners penalties and interest just because they accidentally told the wrong office the right thing...

I think we've hit upon something. Do you?

Pick me! Pick me!

And 34 days later, I am looking for a job.

Gone are the days I could knock on a back office door ("Please sir, I want some more shifts..."). Now, it seems that getting a job require a person to answer such long-winded criteria as:

1. excellent communication skills (telepathy is essential)
2. effective integration problem escalation management or capacity to acquire these skills
3. knowledge of the organisation's policies, whether unwritten, written or imaginary
4. 100 years experience in other jobs (though applicants may be at a disadvantage to people with experience in this job)
5. experience in this job (though applicants may be at a disadvantage to everyone else)
6. superlative organisational skills, demonstrated by running a small country or similar

As they (who?) say, necessity is the mother of invention...

Sunrise

12 x optical zoom. 6.30am.

Green fairy

I have been alcohol free for two whole days now. This self-inflicted mission must last for approximately the next 18 days, 12 hours and 20 minutes ...

(It has been a sobering experience.)

Preoccupied by my impending predicament, and intent on consuming as much beer as was humanly possible in a night, I was party to the purchase of a bottle of absinthe the afternoon before.

Having sampled it as thoroughly as the taste would permit, I had come to the rather drunken conclusion that despite being strong, it was a foul substance that ought not to be encouraged. All in all, a waste of precious drinking time.

It has been two long days, during which I have gazed wistfully at wine bottles, sighed over corner pubs and almost jumped headfirst into a bottle of beer R was holding some metres away.

The thought of refusing any beer, cider or wine that came to make my acquaintance is driving me to the drink.

And the green fairy sits on my wall.

It'd be medicinal...

The world conspires against me

I step from the shower shaking like a nervous break dancer. Grey clouds drizzle misery outside; cars hiss by, and only through deploying my Iron Willpower can I resist the urge to dive back under the doona.

It's cold, it's horrible outside and it's Monday.

And, as I find out to my dismay, I have no clean undies.

So, as I wait for the dryer to do its magic, I find myself typing this wearing only a shirt, with an electric heater conveniently positioned. Strange curls of heat twist around my legs and venture north.

Ooooh! That's different.

I will not be receiving visitors this morning.

Forplaint

They are selling the place we live in on the weekend. My head is filled with visions of shrieking children, nosy noses and palmprints all over my cupboards as the intruders (buyers) descend. And all too early on a Saturday morning.

Yes, I am lazy and should've moved out months ago. Yes, the flat was built in the 30s (with furnitures from the 1300s) and there is a cardboard box masquerading as a room in the front. But I like it and it likes me. Anyone else would scare it.

So in the process of boring holes in the FOR SALE sign with my eyes, I accidentally read it ...

... Spacious, modern, with your own personal bathroom (to match your own personal only room), magnificent retro furniture and a lovely sunroom/study/spare bedroom the size of a small island in the front ...

Everything's ok. They must be selling something else.

Mornings, inadvertists and recrudescent katzenjammers

There has been much procrastination but finally we are ready to let loose with our first post. To begin:

We're a couple living in a large Australian city. We're looking to get married and buy our first home. We have no kids but we do have a singing cow. And 2.3 wine glasses. We like cheese, beer, and chillis in our tequila. We like the smell of the earth after rain (petrichor), the sea on a sunny day, and other non-poisonous substances. We hate mornings, inadvertists and recrudescent katzenjammers (they sux).

For this first post, we're writing together under M's author ID. We really will try to write at least a post or two a day to keep you entertained. We'll try to amuse you, present a different perspective on life, and maybe even swing in a few photos.

But let's deal with that tomorrow.