Sometimes it feels as if there is only the width of a paperclip between sanity and exterminating particularly irksome work colleagues. The methods of dispatch are multifold. The stationary cupboard an arsenal of death to the willing hand.

The telephone line garrote, bludgeoned with a cellotape dispenser, death by a thousand staples, being force fed the juice of markerboard pens, gutted by the paper scissors or simply pushed out of the window. Idle and murderous thoughts beneath the yard arm.

 

Trying to do the right thing and spent the weekend planting trees on a plot of reclaimed woodland in deepest Wales. Typical pavement creeper thinking I could just breeze down there, rub some skin with the bark and be home for tea.

Wales always has plenty up her druidic sleeves to queer the pitch including a shotgun wielding farmer, his equally barking sheep-dog, a neighbouring eco loon, rain ,mud, spears of sunshine, more rain and a falling of the day that would wrapped the credits on the big screen. A good day.

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