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Procrastination Station #1

So I thought I would start writing a daily, or bi weekly, or monthly blog that would allow me to organise my thoughts and distract my millennial mind from working. I have cleaned the work surfaces no more than three times this morning; I use the Wilko own brand surface disinfectant that deep down, I believe does nothing but cover the smell of putrid filth with an Apple Blossom scent. But then again, is this not the nature of all modern cleaning products? I mean how can their be so many bottles for what is essentially, a straightforward task. I have often thought that the chemical cleaning agent market must be one of the most competitive around. This is perhaps why they have so many info-graphics, and CGI explaining this weeks lies with top notch whooshing sounds and animated microbes. 

The faux marble glistening like a snowflake on the ear of an ice sculpture at a corporate event, I went about my morning swim. The Lane system was in full swing by the time we got their, at 7.16 AM. I know this because when you log in at the Gym it not only tells you how many others are in the pool, but also prints a wasteful receipt that you have to carry around with you. Daniela told me that when she went to her Yoga group the other day, having negotiated a stoic log in computer and passed through the Brexit inspired Health Centre immigration gates, the Yogi met her with "Have you got a receipt?"  Very spiritual, we thought. 

"And if we could all slowly drift into downward dog, noticing the breath at all moments, then log onto to your internet banking application and set up a standing order in the name of Yogi Faith" 

Interestingly, Yogi Faith is a close relation of Yogi Bear - the popular cartoon....bear. However, I don't ever recall seeing Yogi slip into Pigeon pose whilst keeping a strong core. I just remember him constantly fucking everything up, unable to fulfil the simple roll of being....a bear. 

So yes, the lanes were in operation, lorded over by 'Mr Fast' an imaginative character name I have lacquered onto a man who-T2 like- storms those lengths with little regard for others. The medium lane became the light speed lane as he chopped the waters between 10 or so struggling buoys, of which we were 2. The pool was full as the proles crammed in their morning exercise, staving off the cancer and the pollution poisoning for yet another day. 

As we all swam together, in a sight that looked like something you might find on the front of the daily mail with a caption "Migrant's taught to swim from young age to ease channel cross", I noticed an old woman with Julia Davis Character Spectacles was eyeing us every time we crossed. We came to the conclusion that she was a ghost who now haunted the pool, forever trapped doing lengths in a worn through Sproggs bathing suit so unappealing in it's design that I would rather be castrated by Mr Fast's 80's speedo's. He's needs the speed after all, and the swimming short does nothing for aero dynamics. 

I returned home, Daniela to work. Chive had snuck into the treat box and eaten two whole pouches of wet food. There was also 4 stray clumps of poo in one her unused  beds. If Chive wasn't a cat, then I might wonder what else you thought she could be?


Procrastination Station #2

Online Brutality (Originally Published on Huffington Post)