There I was, sat sitting in Mollys chatting with my new bestest beer serving friend - Phil “Gayer than a summer parade” the Barman.

So the time comes for me to go outside for a ciggie, and I excuse myself and leave my pint and my Magazine at my window seat near the bar, no danger of my seat being taken because Monday to Friday – I constitute the entirety of their “lunch time rush”
(Which is why I go there, the only pub in the area that I know of that is on a busy London street and is not crowded at lunchtime)

I go for my ciggie, and return full of bad chemicals and tobacco, and all is good.

Phil looks at me quizzically; “Do you smoke roll ups?”

“No, why?”

“It’s just your very quick”

“Well, I have a strong suck on me”

Phil turns slightly away, places his hand on his chest and takes a deep breath, and breathing out says

“And Relaxxxxxxxxxx!”

Hehehe!

I am a bad bad boy.

When I lived at home, one of the corners of my room was "bad" apparently.

The first hint of this was when my dog, Wonka, freaked me out one eveing. I was sitting with my back against the bed on the floor reading or something, and he was asleep at my side.

He suddenly sat up, looked intently into the corner and put his head on one side, then the other, then looked at me and shuffled closer. He kept staring into the corner. Then the cowardly fecker left the room.

He never did it again after that night and showed no worries about coming into the room again, but it was spooky.

Also a girfriend of mine at the time was a bit "gifted" in seeing things most of us can't see, and told me she didn't like that corner either. "Something not exactly good is in there"

This information was given to me AFTER I had moved my bed to a different position in the room. For a couple of months I had been sleeping with my head in that "bad corner"

Shit, that could explain a lot.

Something bad got into my brain.

That's my excuse and I am sticking to it.

I feel like a fighter pilot. But where am I going to get one at this time of day! Boom tish!

Sorry. No I mean I feel like I am sitting around waiting for something big to kick off. Like the RAF pilots in France at the start of the Second World War. Nothing much going on, doing the occasional little sortie, wondering where the enemy are.

Then bam! They have to run like buggery back to England as the full force of the enemy turn up and it all gets serious and hairy. Then the Battle of Britain and all that bollocks. (And no Juzzzy – I don’t remember this first hand. It’s an analogy or a fable or an old charter or something)

What I mean is, I am still – as you can see – able to blog. My fellow workers who have recently been told there is no place for them in the new template are still here, and they are still doing the work. I am doing the work as well, but without them doing it as well, it would be much harder. And I am very grateful. But soon they will be doing other things and then I will not have time to scratch my arse, never mind blog.

And then the “Phoney War” will be over. And the office will fill up with Messerschmitts and Fockers. Especially Fockers.

Or something.

There is a shed load of road works going on in jolly old Lahdahn Tarn right now. They say they are “Replacing the Victorian sewer system” - probably with something that will last about 10 years before needing to be dug up again.

These road works are adding up to an hour on the car commute of my good friends Mrs F and Shipscook, which pleases them no end.

Another effect of this tunnelling is that the maze of one way streets in Soho has become even harder to navigate. Dean Street is closed to Traffic at one end, Soho Square has become a bit of an obstacle course for vehicles and pedestrians and Greek street has big holes in it that restrict its already narrow width.

The only fun thing is watching those calm and polite kings of the London roads, the White Van Drivers, as they try to make deliveries and generally get where they are going.

A wonderful display of steering wheel banging, U turning where it’s not technically possible and freeform close formation swearing seems to be running constantly on the streets. As for the lorry drivers – whole new levels of blood pressure are being reached in cabs all over the borough.

Not that I am taking any pleasure in their misfortune and distress at all you understand.

Ahem.

If only it was pissing off the cyclists as well…..