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'My Corduroyed Life' - Mark A's Journal
Bloody Post Office...
As British readers will know (that's probably everyone apart from Jadash and maybe Tate then), the latest elections (European and Local Government) are being solely done by mail. Firstly, I'd like to say that I fully support this idea, and think it's a positive move. I believe that it will encourage more poeple to vote (either because they couldn't make it to polling stations previously due to commitments or couldn't be bothered to go). I have already received my papers, and voted.
However, this *has* effected me in ways I hadn't thought about. Instead of the usual two day turnaround, my Screenselect deliveries are taking five days. Surely the Post Office should have realised that a letter to pretty much everyone in the country that isn't normally sent, plus a large proportion of those people sending an almost instant reply, is going to increase their workload substantially? As such, they should have bloody well planned for it, and offered overtime to their (inevitably grossly underpaid) sort office workers. [fume] Gits.
Have fun,
M
Current mood:
annoyed.Current music: Mr Postman by The Beatles?.
Friend, Fag Hag, Faithful servant, Car...
I received the bad news yesterday that my faithful friend, Doris, was in a bad way and was suffering. I had to make the decision to have her put down in favour of prolonging her agony. Oh sweet Blue Nova, thou shalt be sorely missed.
The thing that irritated me was that her engine was actually fine, it was just that her bodywork is too rusty which (apparently) makes her dangerous inasmuch as bits might fall off which would be a danger to other cars and pedestrians. I personally think it's a crock of shit as the government want to get older cars off the road, but hey...
Now that she has left this world, I feel she is worthy of an epitaph as she's been good to me over the last six years. When I was in the closet, I used to crack that: "she's the only woman that's never left me." More recently, I've cracked that she's my Fag Hag. I am going to miss her. I'm going to miss her and her little eccentricities like having to hit some pipe with a spanner to get her started, her speakers that didn't work, the fact that her battery wasn't powerful enough to have the heated rear windscreen and the headlights on at the same time, and the drivers seat that was so worn that you could see the bear metal. Then there were the things I added: the ancient road atlas, the horribly untasteful rug, the stick on Garfield, the stick on Taz, the faded mock sunglasses windscreen shade, the broken nodding dog, the furry dice, and rubbish mats and seat covers. She wasn't so much a car, but an extension of everything that's cheap, silly, eccentric and loveable about me.
Then I think of all the places I've driven in her: Glastonbury, Wales, Scarborough, Alton Towers, Chester, Bridgenorth, Birmingham plus goodness knows how many precarious journeys from Wolverhampton to Manchester and vice versa. All happy times with happy memories.
I am actually quite upset. I don't need a car; I don't particularly want a car... But this is/ was Doris. She is/ was more than that: a personality, one of life's constants, and something that always made me come out in a grin. I'll always remember my six years of driving Doris very, very fondly.
Rest in peace, sweetheart.
Mark
Current mood:
sad.Current music: Bye Bye Love by George Harrison?.