Email. The gift that keeps on giving.

Gosh! Another stroke of luck on a Monday morning

An email. From the accident advice helpline.

I'd like a job answering that:

“Hello. Don't have one. Goodbye.”

“Hello again. At least not unless it's absolutely unavoidable. Even then, try to minimise the damage. That reduces the contributory negligence thing. Anyway, be safe. Goodbye.”

“Hello. Oh, you've had an accident. Poor old you. Still. Never mind. There, there, there. 'Bye.”

Anyway, what luck. It seems I'm due untold riches and wealth due to that loose paving slab / defective stair tread / missing hazard sign in the past. Wow. I've had all of those. Not just the once each, either. Must be worth a compensation mint, me.

More Christmas good fortune...

...this time from Wickes, another email, subject:

Yule love this.

Red pencil prices, and a festive pun. What could be better. David Lloyd always jests about buying his wife a wheelbarrow and shovel for Christmas (it was ladders and a cordless last year, I think) but he's unfollowable on twitter unless you're a cricket nut. Imagine. Pre-Christmas sale at the DIY warehouse. Romance and magic lives on, and yule love the drill bit and holecutter set.

Fulham v Newcastle

Monday night football. Perfect for that couple of hours after work, started 07:30, finished 19:30, home 20:00, and going to bed before doing it again tomorrow. It sort of allows me to have that vegetating down time that suits me. If I try the more standard vegging formats, I become more agitated because I feel I'm wasting precious time on absolute tripe. Monday night football is ideal. Interesting enough, but not too engrossing (it is Fulham and Newcastle after all, not a very colourful affair) so I can make something to eat, do some more electronic filing, in the background.

Bet with Ray

Every half time, there's London Ray Winstone, encouraging gambling:

“Gert'cha larptops an phanes aht. Time ta bet da inplay mahrkets. An ave ya tried live streamin'? Ya'll lharv it.”

The problem is I'm never going to think “my god Ray, you're right, I'll have a couple of quid on the next yellow card”. I'm always going to remember the advert coming on when it would've been half time in the rain-abandoned Poland v England match.