Aaaaannnddd here we go again. Once again the support contract on our software has had to be extended for our customer, to the end of 2019 now, as the new software STILL isn't up to scratch and won't be for some time. So, that's me officially employed for another year (with another pay rise, thank you boss).
It seems it's time to go flat (apartment) hunting. My landlady warned me yesterday that she is physically no longer capable of looking after the house (she has back problems) so is putting it on the market, but not until August at the earliest.
I'm hoping that what I was told yesterday evening happens. It seems Graham, who lives in the apartment above Bridgetown Brewery at The Albert, is nearing retirement age and thinking of buying his own place. If that becomes available soon it would be ideal for me. My friend Tim (the barman) says the owners of the pub would like someone reliable who they know to occupy it.
Just had a phone call from my bank asking me to confirm some recent transactions.
Mobile top-up? Yes
National Trust membership? Yes
On-line dating? No. Um, how much for? £3.75. I was tempted to say "At that price, I'll take her!"
Now my debit card is blocked and I have to wait a couple of days for a replacement.
I produced the best man's speech as a poem. I had written it on a roll of toilet paper and as I stood up said "I've just got a few words..." and let it drop onto my foot. It worked perfectly; it (un)rolled from one end of the hall to the other.