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Saturday, 25 June 2016

In which 3 five minute breaks in a twelve and a half hour day is not enough...

Flippin' 'eck! Yesterday was a v tiring day.
It would appear that the shift leader was conducting an experiment to see how many times an elderly person (that's me, that is, Dear Reader), could run up and down the stairs before her stressed knees gave out.
One's first charge of the day has a propensity to do unspeakable things when left to his own devices, so One formulated a plan to stick to the little blighter like shite to a blanket. Actually that's a rather appropriate analogy, since shite to a blanket would have been the result had One left the little dear unattended.
He tried everything to shake One off including a dash around the grounds, but One was on fire and kept up the pace like a dollop of half One's age, and weight.
One was duly rewarded with a trip to the swimming pool with another pair of delicious del
One, having previously informed One's leader that 'I don't get me kit off at work' was relegated to changing room assistant and poolside attendant, spent an hour of me life, that I won't get back, being stifled in the extreme temperatures (the little dears feel the cold) and attempting to avoid being splashed by the primordial soup they were floating about in.
Following our return 'home' One was then presented with a naked man to chase up and down the stairs whilst ensuring that he didn't eat his slippers.
Yes, Dear Reader, it was a twelve and a half hour shift.
Finally slumped on the wipe-clean sofa, One was intimidated by a further article intent on tearing One's clothing from One.
'If the little fecker comes near me again, I'm going to punch him' said One, only partly in jest.
A look of fleeting horror passed across the face of one of One's cerebrally challenged co workers, so One is expecting a 'significant discussion' on the morrow.
But then, if you farm these alarming creatures for profit you must expect the farm workers to live on the edge.

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