It's just all falling apart. What with the new office-based job, and the serious American blog and various other projects, househusbandnot is fading into a shadow if its/my former selfnot. Is it only the unemployed who have time to be blogging on a regular basis? (I don't think we need to dig too deep to get an answer to that one.) And if this is the case, how useful is any information from a legions of people who are not actually taking part in the real world? Mind you, do you need to be taking part to understand what is going on? Answers on my desk by lock up please people.
The other crapper about having to go to an office again is that I have very little to report on, other than about that office, and - as mentioned last week - it all seems pretty normal there. Hey, the minute the receptionist tries to recruit me to Scientology or we get raided by Welsh separatists or the head of finance confesses a long but well-managed relationship with smack, I'll be here telling you about it. But it all seems deeply normal at this new office. The big debate of the day today was whether or not it was illegal to have Hellman's mayonnaise with couscous. Oh, and we did discuss whether or not we should have the window open or not. But that is as good as it got. At one point we were talking about Micheal Aspel....
But I think I need to do the office thing, and use it as a spur to do other things outside the office in order to generate some momentum (and maybe £) to ensure that mrs househusbandnot and I can get out of having to go to offices as soon as possible, and bring up wolves or something. (Did anyone see that wolfman programme the other night? Him teaching baby wolves to howl = possibly cutest thing I have ever seen. Him feeding teenage wolves from his mouth = definitely grossest thing I have ever seen.) I don't think offices are a good idea. There is something about those humming photocopiers and the post it notes on milk bottles in the fridge and the fire extinguishers and the ccing people and the genuine need for staplers. It is wrong, and if not wrong, then odd and possibly unholy.
Incidentally, did I mention that mrs hhn and I have Prince tickets? Yowza.
the ongoing saga of pretending to be a house husband in the new millennium
Where's Vinderama?
5 comments:
Dude, surely if you could manage to get an almost-daily blog out of chuffing around your flat waiting for the boiler repair man, describing people you saw at bus stops, swimming pools, your wormery and how badly you slept last night, now that you have some real stuff happening in your life, hhn should be a breeze. Now you're in an office, you're even more n a hh. Obviously you're a little busier than you were, but a dose of self-discipline can work wonders.
And that wolf guy? You wouldn't want to find yourself sitting next to him on the tube, would you?
good advice Anon. I currently have an apple down my cleavage and it looks like I have 3 boobs
Madam B, what on earth has that got to do with anything? Are you actually insane?
Dear Anon. It has nothing to do with nothing and seeing as no-one has said nothing of importance re this blog I thought I'd enlighten you all with my latest trick.
I do fear hhn's heart isn't in this anymore though - shame, maybe he will prove me wrong
We live in hope, Madam B.
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