And Then, Some Muscle Clarification….

Yesterday I mentioned I was easing back towards 'normal' and talked of muscle spasms. I feel I must offer some clarification regarding these muscle spasms.

The use of the word 'muscle' was possibly a tad misplaced. Sure, many years ago, when I was in the world, I had a few. Muscles that is. With the passing years, these have rendered down to virtually pure fat and I'm happy with that.

Pulsing fat is the expression I should've used yesterday, not muscle spasms.

It must be said that over the past weeks of pushing it, pulling it, breaking it, digging it and throwing it, these fatty areas have started to re-constitute themselves into little muscle areas. Then, all of a suddenness, work stuff ends and those areas are now totally at a loss as to which way to go. Generate or degenerate? This is what, I believe, is causing me to need the help of six tins of Deep Heat and Fiery Jack a day.

As a by-the-by, I see in the news that the boss of the UK borders and a couple of his buddies, basically, threw our borders open to all comers for a few months to keep queues' to a minimum to be fair to holidaymakers. That seems like a fairly cool move. If you hate your job.

If you're reading this some place other than the UK, it's fair to assume you'll think I'm making this up. Do the clicky thingy here and it'll fairly quickly become apparent I'm not. Let's be honest, you couldn't make it up.

Here's a slightly more, "Agghhhh!!" account.

If these people get into trouble for this fairness, which seems like a pretty fair bet, and possibly face being fired, I hope, to be fair to them, they get huge amounts of compensation and keep their pension benefits. After all, they were only acting fairly for folk, so lets be fairly acting to them to. That's how it works, right?

If they end up 'off borders', can we get 'em over to that global wotzit and windmill department, helping ol' "Propeller Head"? It'd be nice to try and keep all the nutters in one room, you think?

And so it rolls on, and on…

Quote; Grace Murray Hopper.

“I handed my passport to the immigration officer, and he looked at it and looked at me and said, 'What are you?'”