Aug. 27th, 2008

hathycol: (stfu!)
So, having just had a Very Expensive Week involving driving a lot and, you know, a science-fiction convention, I am back in Ormskirk. I decided that I would quietly get on with my job, earn money, meet friends, stay low-profile. All good. I rocked back to work yesterday ("Right, just to confirm, how many people have moved to a different home or the nursing home in the sky? Blimey, I've been away a while") and am quite enjoying catching up with people and working my arse off again. Possibly literally working my arse off, nursing is a great weight-loss program. The hours mean you eat a lot of takeaway, which balances it out, mind.

ANYWAY the point is I don't really like being back here and incidentally I am fed up of the phrase "How's your boyfriend?" to which my response is currently "Er. We're not together" and the explanations are never fun, especially when you're trying to be chirpy and caring. But I am getting on with it, and not even drinking that much, which is my usual 'at home' defence.

EXCEPT I was driving home from work this afternoon, and a little warning light came on. Some investigation with the manual and Dad and I discover that my cam belt - the thing you change after 60,000 miles and I'm at 65,000 and if it does explode takes out your entire engine - is on the way out. I made a noise that can't be transcribed as anything other than "WErew;rowekjrbwre-0v!!!!" and phoned the garage for a quote.

Then I made the noise again.

Ormskirk: not going to plan. PLEASE SEND WINE. I'm off to the supermarket, on foot, to get some.

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hathycol

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