1. Are you a good worker?
If I'm interested in the task, yes. I'll match all those clichéd phrases - go the extra mile; give 110%; work all hours God sends; burn the midnight oil - you name it, I'll do it if I love the work. If it's boring, or I don't feel appreciated, or it's work I think will be wasted, ignored, or shelved, then I'm not going to put myself out. Been there too many times in the past.
2. What do you carry?
About five stones in excess flab. A lifetime's experience. The world on my shoulders (but I hide it well). Enough dreams to sink a battleship and enough love to float it again. Oh...hang on. You mean my laptop bag, don't you?
3. Do you know your neighbours?
Yes! As regular readers will know, for the first time in "thirty years" I DO know my neighbours. They're friends, we socialise, we can ask them for help and they us. And you know what? SO many people are surprised by this, I understand why it took me/us so long to find a community like this. They hardly exist any more. Other friends and colleagues say to us "What... you actually TALK to your neighbours?!?" Sad, really, that life is so insular for so many of us.
4. Where do you like to go for a day trip?
Anywhere by the sea is OK with me. Or the Lakes. I don't like city breaks much. Seen one city, seen them all. Although having said that, I enjoyed New York (mostly. For at least some of it, that was "enjoyed" pronounced "endured").
5. What is at your feet?
My PC. That bit of carpet my chair sits on to protect the rest of the carpet from wear (and which insists on creeping to the right and climbing up the side of my PC). One or two bits of junk mail waiting to make their way to the recycle bin.
Friday, May 23, 2008
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2 comments:
Can I join in?
Are you a good worker?
I was, now I bake and grow weeds.
What do you carry?
In my gorgeous bag? The usual things, pens, pounds and toffees. Weight wise, not much. Bit scrawny.
Do you know your neighbours?
Sort of. Don't like Brian he's a noisy bald man who drops spanners every single weekend. His wife drinks to excess and laughs hysterically. The people opposite are rich and are forever chopping and changing their frontage.I could tell you stories about my past neighbours in London that would make you feel quite ill. So I won't.
Day Trip?
London, Seaside, Churches in the countryside, Sainsburys.
At my feet?
Stupid slippers, Monty my cat, stains.
I think maybe it might be that we don't talk to our neighbours because ... well, maybe its just England. Its like the thing where you do NOT under any circumstances talk to the people at the bustop with you.
Strange ol' world innit :D
LY xxxxxxx
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