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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

"Is it possible for a man to give birth to a monkey?"
No, David Blaine, it freaking well isn't. Stop asking stupid questions on my television and go starve yourself to death already.

Sad news, people. It is with great, great sadness that I announce the death of my cousin's goldfish Junior. You will all remember the fabulous job I did when Olivia moved flats and I was in charge of looking after little Junior, and I didn't spill much any water. Well, she called last night, and apparently he was floating sideways at the top of the bowl and not really breathing. I've had no more updates since then, but I'm guessing that he's not long for this world. So possibly announcing his death to the world is a little premature, but she's coming over tonight so we can bury him somewhere in the field outside my house. What? We're Irish. We can't just flush him down the toilet (which is illegal in Scotland anyway, I think). So I'm thinking he'll probably be dead if we do that.

And, it's important to note once more, I didn't kill him.

Third day of New Job. I'm learning all sorts of new skills, like how to fill in Summary Cause Summons forms over and over again, how to serve Writs on people over and over again, and how many different forms it takes to serve a Writ (three if the defender is an individual, four if it's a limited company). And I got to fill in the E200 form. Fifteen. Times. Today. New Job is exciting fun.

I started taking phone calls yesterday afternoon, because they felt that I was ready for the challenge. The thing that worries me the most is the amount of times people checked to see if the callers were being polite and not rude at all. Four different people checked. And the partner I'm working for gave me a little speech yesterday about the fact that it's okay to hang up on people if they're swearing at you.

Like I said. Worrying.

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