An underwater smile from @kingswellfish to start the week down at the lovely lido.
I *think* it was a smile? Probably more of a knowing giggle, given a late night Twitter exchange the night before.
Totally unrelated was the leopard print pussy tunnel that I unwillingly found myself caught up in back in the gents.
Some very odd items are taken to the lido. The fish flip flops of Le Gai Pensionnaire often send me to sleep with a smile on my face.
Gosh @mutley69. WHAT a pussy tunnel. pic.twitter.com/EhP1CN24vi
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) March 14, 2016
So what if I had good reason to bring a LIDL cat tunnel in my morning swimming bag? I might even bring the mad cat next time.
Brockwell Lido is BONKERS.
I cycled off for a school day up the road in SE21, safe in the knowledge that whatever would come my way for the day ahead, all would be fine with my world.
Which is just as well as I was straight out of the singing assembly and sitting in front of the management team, pitching for a new website.
Except I don’t do pitches. It’s just not the way that I work.
I took a deep breath, fired up the templates that I have been working on and waited for a response.
I was expecting a few tweaks, and then some reassurance that further thought would be given.
But nope - I was given the green light to flick the switch on two more websites. That’s three down now. Almost there…
Part of my pitch that wasn’t a pitch was to use more full size images on the sites, and less words.
A lot less words.
I find myself coming out of a school day with 2,000 words plus bashed out about various activities across the school. It’s a bit of a chore to be honest.
And whaddya know: come chucking out time, and yep - I had 2,000 plus words once again.
Oh dear.
I have the self-editing skills of a sixth form poet.
A brief bread stop at Di Lietos, and then armed with Transpontine olive bread I made my way to Liverpool Street and back to over there.
Help!
The ride over London Bridge was bloody blustery. Even weighed down with a Brompton bag stuffed full of lido gear, school work and a pussy tunnel, I almost came a cropper.
The train journey saw me as the uncomfortable sandwich filling for two big fat Essex fellas who wedged me in. I reckon that they were attracted by the aroma of the Transpontine olive bread.
Tricky did the business for me on the headphones. I haven’t played Maxinquaye in years. It just seemed to fit the mood as the two fat fellas and I sped through the Essex countryside.
A brief reunion with the mad cat, and then… more work.
I had shifts through until late at night. The mad cat did her best to relieve me of these duties.