Yes, that's right... I've been literally inundated with
a text message asking if it's really true... I'm afraid it is... I've got a job.
It's only for the summer, though, and therefore I only have ninteen days of physical labour left. Indeed, physical labour is involved almost the entire time I'm there, too. I'm a porter. I carry things. Heavy things. Like bricks. And towels. And mopheads. But before I start another incredibly unbroken sentence moving from topic to topic so that no-one has a chance to interrupt me (it can be really quite hypnotic), I should address the finer points of my past two weeks.
I apologise for the break in posting, madcap
Bonkers fans. I can only hope that my review of
The Da Vinci Code kept you going through the silence... well, it was certainly long enough, eh? I can't make any promises, but I'm aiming for posts to now be more regular and shorter: bitesize chunks of me, easy to digest with no possible double-meaning to any of this sentence... ahem...
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, my job...

...no, it doesn't involve silly costumes, ridiculous poses and shaving my head as the above picture would suggest. I just found this on the interweb and really wanted to post it with the caption "Bless you, Captain", but now having typed that it doesn't look/sound/appear as funny as it was in my head. Do you really want to know about my job?
Anyway, I'm a porter. I start at 08:30 and finish at 15:30, with a twenty minute payed break at 11:00 for a sandwich and several sugar-based, high fat content products. I don't think I even need to induce said food-based heart attacks, but it's regulated by the European Union nonsense that determines that every single human on the planet cannot possibly do work without a health and safety force-feeding every five minutes... see, I'm adding politics into my other topics to make the website entries more concise! Cunning, very cunning...
So I should be over £1,500 better off in September. Not to mention the physical side effects of outdoors physical labour: my arms are bigger, my stomach reducing and my tan actually marginally exisiting rather than being a distant wish or an unfulfilled can of self-tanning liquid on some shop shelf somewhere in my future.
Does that make any sense to you? Nope, me neither.
Oh, and the finales of both 24: Season Five and Doctor Who were shocking, stunning and powerfully emotional experiences. They're on the list of things to purchase... more on that list later, I've signed my spending habits away!
Quite. I'm changing beyond all recognition. Scary, eh? Now, engage!
Hmm... maybe I'm not changing that much...
Peace out, madcap Bonkers fans. I shall endeavour to check back soon.