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Sunday, 5 March 2017

In which I can't get down. Or up...

Well then...
Have completed my first, employed, five day week since 1991.
Am well and truly cattle-trucked.  Have been dragging this flollopy, lard-encased carcass around for sixty years now and am spent.

Have discovered that my creaky old knees can no longer weight bear, following the two falls I had a while ago.

'Of course they can't bear your gargantuan mass!' I hear you exclaim, Dear Reader, and I would concur.

I didn't imagine, given my current job title, that I would be required to spend any time at all on my knees, but, there it is, Dear Reader, I am.

My delightful co-worker is a slender, young lovely, who is lithe in the extreme and very supple and bendy.

I am not. And I am on my knees. Or, I would be, if I could get down, let alone get up again!

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