Girding One's Loins

Last day of the holiday so trying desperately to psyche myself up for the return to work tomorrow. Failing miserably at it too.

It wasn't helping that a trip into the town for a few messages this morning knocked all the enthusiasm for the day right out of me. The High Street was dripping in dreich, the streets were manky with all the road grit lying between patches of dreich ice, the shops were full of dreich types in front and behind the counters (the guy in the kilt hire shop couldn't even be arsed hanging up the phone call he was on as I returned my Hogmanay outfit). I stood here taking a few snaps of the limp Christmas tree with my nose screwed up as there was a pungent smell of poo wafting around the top of the High Street, hopefully from a dodgy sewer and not the Chinese take-away right next to me here. Then I remembered that today was the day our VAT was going up again (5% since this time last year), and decided to head home and hide for the rest of the day.

Samantha and Heather are at least making more an effort to psych themselves up as they're off to their fist Zumba class of the year. Mind you, Samantha's only going along to help out with the music tonight and as Heather managed to almost rip off a toenail five minutes before they left she's not really going to be bouncing about much with a big bandage wrapped around her bloody stump.

Oh, the joys.

PS: This one looks worse in LARGE.