Having a forced password reset for a work tool is never a great start to the 7am shift.
I calmed down with Robert Wyatt as the #LateJunction guest.
Yep, I’m a Believer, etc.
I pimped out the tarted up Chronic.
So yeah. We've had a bit of a tart up of the blog https://t.co/WQeMAiGKNf It's still all about the stories. No fur coat and no knickers here
— Colchester Chronicle (@ColchChronic) October 18, 2017
As for what is next?
I’m not entirely sure…
I did pre-load the Chronic’s twitter feed with the usual run of weekend tweets.
But wait! What’s this?
Hootsuite is tightening the screw. The basic account now only allows for up to 30 scheduled tweets.
The modern interweb is being squeezed all around us.
I’m being squeezed.
Elsewhere and our monthly trial for the Community Supported Agriculture (VEG BOX) is about to be come to an end.
We’ve been trialling it and are very impressed.
I signed up full time for the weekly Essex organic goodies.
But no raspberries, please.
The winter bicycling jacket came out a little too early for the ride in along the Trail.
It was raining – wet rain.
Also in my swimming bag was a dustpan and brush.
The other end of the Trail has become laden with broken glass over the past few weeks.
The students have returned to the University over the past few weeks…
Anna thought that I was being very public spirited in taking the time to sweep it up.
I was being a selfish arse.
I don’t give a stuff about others. Five minutes of sweeping is preferable to me getting in a mess trying to fix puncture.
There was little turn around time in the pool.
West Ham Wanker tried to start a conversation on euthanasia in the showers.
ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA.
I only had time for 30 lengths ahead of the afternoon work shifts.
Some catch up with Friction on 1Xtra saw me through the run of afternoon work shifts.
Yeah, yeah – I know.
DIRTY drum and bass, Jase.
I lost my junglist head about a decade ago. I’ve no idea how or why, but I’m wearing it proudly once again of late.
Wot No Mid Life Crisis, etc.
Drum and Bass then became Drill and Bass.
The audio went a little hardcore, even for my liking.
I then realised that it was actually the neighbours next door using a genuine drill.
I had to disappear up to the top of the town late afternoon to the Post Office.
We missed a delivery the day before.
A card for ‘Mrs A Cobb’ was left.
There is no Mrs A Cobb, Comrades.
I was intrigued.
I cycled in the pissing rain in anticipation.
It was from Anna’s mum, natch.
A little more work, and then the remainder of Wednesday was taken up with some Lambeth Council audio action from Full Council.
Brixton Buzz action first thing in the morning, blah blah blah.
Plus I’m buggering off back home to Sunny Stockwell.