Manly things

Ah yes, I have broadband, but alas it's not mine and I have to give it back at the end of the day. I'm joinersitting at the moment -- by which I don't mean I'm sat on some hairy joiner's knee, no matter how much they beg -- for the parents while they're off getting a Queen's Award For Industry from that Princess Royal woman. So, here's me surrounded by the sounds of hammering and drilling and "To you, Fred!" and "Up your end, Charlie!"*

And what am I doing while all this manly workmanning is going on? I'm trying to think up another rhyme for 'dead'. Yup, here I am, all grown up, spending my day coming up with the next instalment of a fictional skeleton who wears a pink knitted suit. Very butch. I used to want to be an astronaut -- that's pretty manly. Never fancied the whole fireman thing, and by the time I was born engine drivers had to sod about with big diesel things, so no chuff-chuff, woo-wooooo! For me either. But still…

Worse, I actually have the cheek to think that doing Skeleton Bobington actually qualifies as work. My mum and dad must be so proud.

* Which sounds rude, and is. That's why there's no knee-sitting going on.