Tick, tick, tick, tick...
Yup -- it's now seven and an half hours (give or take) till I have to be back in my inhumane little cubicle at INoGITCH. And I seem to be the only one not subscribing to the 'Oh Bloody hell: why are you going back? Are you retarded or something?' camp. She Who Must Think Her Husband Is Missing Something Important Between The Ears has decided that I'm off my rocker. And she may well be right. OK, so she's from Fife, so that's not likely (statistically speaking), but there's always a first time.
To make matters worse, we went shopping for work clothes on Saturday. Markies -- fucking useless and full of shite, except for the 'Extra Value Suit' which seemed to be really well made, except for the trousers which looked like they were trying to crampon their way up the north crevice. If you know what I mean. John Lewis were more useless, only in a much funnier way. Every time I saw one of their price tags I laughed, and laughed, and laughed...
In the end it was a close run thing between suicide, murder and Slater's Men's Wear. And dear God forgive my non-manliness, but I bought a suit. And then another suit. And then some shirts. And two ties. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME? I've not bought a single stitch of clothing since the David Hasselhoff impersonator's outfit, eighteen months ago. Why on earth did I pick now to go mad?
On the bright side, I can probably use one of the suits to traumatise people at crime events. It's a linen-style thing and gives one the air of a bearded Michael Palin gone to seed. With no mates. And the faint whiff of despair.
The worst part about this shopping binge of DOOM is that the suits aren't going to be available till Monday lunchtime. So my newfound colleagues won't get the benefit till later in the week. Supposing any of them notice.
Of course, maybe my return to work will be heralded with trumpets and feted calves, but somehow I bloody doubt it. Would lunch be too much to ask for?