Good god, it was windy last night. It still is today, as it happens. When I turned in last night, it was quite pleasant, listening to the wind whistling through the blinds on the bedroom windows. I drifted off imagining myself aboard a Spanish galleon in the mid 18th century, as things creaked and sang. By 4am, however, the romantic associations had worn wafer-thin, and the noise was just that - noise. I bunged in some earplugs and copped a deaf 'un. Mrs O was kept awake by the tempest too. That takes some doing, believe me. It must have been a ferocious one.
The poor weather also meant that I overworked my already weakened right knee on the ride into work. I suppose I should get the train in for a few days, but that feels like a defeat, and I don't need one of those at the moment. My morale's at a season's best low as it is.
Stop Press: I've received a couple of unwelcome from the IT dunces at work, telling me I'm liable to be beaten with rhino-hide cosh if I use the Internet inappropriately. They don't define appropriateness. All this is because they got hacked a few months ago and are trying to divert attention from their own major professional shortcomings.
No-one likes a bully...you acne-ridden friendless 40-year-old virgins. No-one.
