ONE YEAR AT A TIME PART 2: YEAR ONE POINT FIVE – THE NEXT SIX MONTHS Please ensure you’ve read One Year At A Time – Year 1 before reading this (also available). If you don’t, you’ll be confused…. The Story So Far As the New Year begins, let’s reflect for a moment on the highs and lows of the previous year. My estranged husband Trevelyan has completed his jail sentence for possession of drugs with intent to supply. He’s served divorce papers and moved out. I have no interest in where he’s living now. If he thinks he’s getting 50% of the value of the house as a minimum settlement he will be disappointed. My daughter, Abigail (15), is still missing. The police believe she’s with a travelling circus somewhere in Europe, but I don’t think trees are being pulled up in an effort to locate her. It’s obvious my son Reggie (4), is struggling in the absence of his father and big sister. The house next door, formerly occupied by Gavin, remains unsold after his rapid departure in No...
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CATS, HUSBANDS, HOLIDAYS, MYSTERY and MORE! January to March With hindsight, things didn’t get off to a great start at Chez Nocturne, my lovely home. The traditional New Year’s Day lunch with neighbours to celebrate a new beginning was endangered when my cat jumped on to the table as we were eating the starters, and then tragically ruined when he had an epileptic fit. I watched in horror as convulsions, spasms and contractions threw Algernon (the cat) into the delightful, if slightly spicy, salsa I had lovingly spent almost an hour preparing especially for the occasion. With his paws now totally uncoordinated, the cat proceeded to spray my creation over guests and carpet alike, like a young child feeding bread to ducks for the first time. A strange silence enveloped the room. Guests were open-mouthed in astonishment as they watched the ghastly scene unfold. Then, the cat stopped twitching and collapsed. Sadly, Algernon had miaowed his last. The rest of the lunch was cance...
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YO-YO 1. A Brief Introduction Offhand, I can’t think of anyone who looks good in a purple suit, with the possible exception of Prince. And the jury remains out on that. Yet, here I am, resplendent in purple, pushing buttons and speaking only when I’m spoken to. Even the machine I pseudo-control has a voice, so the provision of basic, general information to uninterested individuals is something I don’t need to do. Unsure if I have an opinion about that. In case you haven’t worked it out, I’m a lift attendant. Quite ironic, given how Prince died, but I digress. What, I hear you cry, they still exist? Yes, they do, but they’re a dying breed as technology continues to pick off the more rudimentary jobs in the world and automate without compassion or apology. There are certain parameters: - 1. Such jobs are usually only available in bigger cities with tall buildings. ...