Pass me back the gazebo, missus

Ding dong!

My father and I are discussing the plan for meeting my second cousin from Canada when my neighbour pokes the doorbell this Saturday morning.

"Hello," I say.

"Hello. Your canopy is...." She motions with a finger in a spiral, up-in-the-air kind of shape. "It's gone over."

"Has it?" I say. And idiotically go to the back window to confirm its absense from the back garden. There is definitely a gazebo shaped hole in the scenery.

The neighbour heads out in her car and my father and I trudge next door where the gazebo is in a comical, four-legs-in-the-air kind of position.

"Good job I tied it down, eh?"

"You did?"

"Well, with one rope anyway."

We dismantle and toss tubular bits back over the wall. The one rope and next door's washing line saved it from becoming a Wizard of Oz event. Only just.

Note to self: Tie the buggering thing down PROPERLY next time.

I have a picture in my head of my father and I sitting under the gazebo drinking tea when it takes off. Would have enjoyed that.

Related Post: B&Q Gazebo instructions

Huzzah!

Made it to Friday.

It's been a poxy week and today I started off wearing odd socks for luck, for as luck would have it two odd socks were paired up in the drawer when I took them out and I already had one on when I noticed. That's about as lucky as the day went. After that, no figures would balance, no report would report, no feckin numbers would crunch.

I have not established exactly how long before an election an election candidate may erect an election poster either. If anyone knows, please tell me.

Otherwise, I have learned my overtime cheque is spent already and is not going to be replenished in any near future by our Payroll section.

"We paid you two weeks overtime last paycheck," I am told.

Brian Cowan munched so much of it in tax I thought I'd only received the one and was quietly planning fiendish things for the second installment. On such notes did my day proceed to a 60th birthday teaparty for our boss. Songs and lemonade ensued, which was a pleasant ending to the week. I think I need beer.

Picture is of Ken Dodd, by the way.

Peed my pants. Again.

To add to my recent catalogue of minor mishaps, I was walking into The Square shopping centre in Tallaght this evening when I stood on a loose paving slab. It didn't tip me over, but it had a void underneath filled with rainwater and whatever way it sank into the space beneath on my footfall, it made the perfect substitute for someone throwing a bucketful of water at me. The right leg of my (naturally, they would be) pale coloured trousers got the full brunt. So I now had one dry, light-coloured trouserleg, and one obviously dark and wet trouserleg. Grinning and bearing it, I fixed my glance steelily ahead and marched into the Square. The people coming towards me didn't betray any emotion, so perhaps looking like someone who'd peed his pants is now de rigeur, I simply missed the announcement. So I then looked down and there's a huge flapping bootlace draggling along from beneath the hem of my dry leg. As I bent over to tie it, I would not have been in the least bit surprised if my evening concluded with a huge big kick in the arse from a total stranger.

The wet leg dried in the half hour waiting in the wind for the bus.

Picture courtesy http://www.clown-ministry.com