I don't learn many lessons throughout the average day, but right up at number one I'm going to put "don't set fire to police sniffer dogs". Big crack down around SkegVegas on Saturday night, police were out in abundance, replete with girl friendly border collie (rather than man eating German Shepherd). Here's me and the Waynster, minding out own business in the V-Bar. Obviously, with shaven heads and that "most likely to be arrested" look about us, we're chosen as the first to have our groins sniffed by another species. Dog goes behind me for my back pockets, catches the end of my fag and stands there dumbly with its snout raising a cloud of burning hair. Cue me and one of said coppers slapping the dog on the head trying to put it out. The policeman was in no way pleased with me. Not aided or abbetted by Wayne trying to chat one of the nice police ladies up. What is wrong with the bloke?!
Whilst Saturday nights (or in this weekends case, every night) are all very good, I'm starting to move into that mind-set that lives for the weekend and tries to wish the week away. I know exactly what's doing it; too much free time during the week, no-one around and me a social creature that craves human contact. Don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly capable of occupying myself and have my head into literally everything, but I miss being around people. I WANT to get back to work but can't; my manager's written a letter to say I'm dangerous in the warehouse whilst still fitting. Apparently impromptu breakdancing whilst guiding 8 tons of industrial lathe into position may cause my own death and take someone else with me. I'm burning very little energy off during the day and sleeping badly. It's pants!
I want to get back to some kind of balance. Whilst I'm in no way going to give up the social life I've carved out for myself of late (missed that like fook over the past year or two) I need that working week routine badly.
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