Office dinners

My boss thinks he does us a favour by having a Christmas dinner for us.  He takes us to an expensive restaurant, in the idea that it's a sort of thank you for our year's work.  But, although I am polite, even amiable, with the ppl at work, I don't really have anything in common with them.  I have nothing in common with their partners.  The resto is always a meat-eater one, and there is nothing on the menu that we can eat.  I'm old and tired.  My lady is too.  We'd much rather spend Saturday night comfortably at home in our pajamas and dressing gown drinking our own cheap champagne and entertaining ourselves.  Invariably, the vegetarian food in meato restaurants is worse and duller than what we cook at home (not true of vegetarian restaurants, though). Yet it would cause offence not to go.  So go we will, to endure a few hours of boredom and tedium.

At least we are spared silly paper hats.

Complaints

There's this guy I know.  Perhaps you might even call him my friend, though he struggles to actually care about me as a person, because he hasn't quite got over his love affair with himself, so I'm not sure he is, really.

He's handsome, sexy, healthy and well-off.  He's gifted (languages, maths, music, sport).  He has a beautiful wife, and two beaut kids, who are adorable and also do well at stuff.  You know exactly what sort of family that is.  Mr and Mrs Perfect and their kids.

Yet he constantly complains.  He's always angry about the very minor road bumps in his life.  He takes his anger out on the ppl around him.  It's strange: he simply cannot see how blessed he is, how very lucky.

Maybe his very inability to be grateful to the gods is his bad luck.   I confess: I find it very tiresome.

Tous conforts

Yeah, right.  Train full this morning.  Had to sit on the floor all the way!  A whole hour.  Admittedly, that is seldom true; there are almost always many seats.  But today I was hoping to write some more Majorca Flats.  It's been a while.  Sorry.