To Be Happy

I just want to be happy. All the time. It will take a sea change for that to happen. But I’m working on it. Work is a pressure situation sometimes, chasing a sale to take me over my target or just to get the week’s takings over the £7500 break even point.
Business is bad, people don’t have money to spend on advertising, they think it is false economy. We are the last thing that people pay, after their utilities and other bills, whatever is left is to pay off advertising bills. Not withstanding in many cases, without advertising, nobody would know they were there.

The parent situation took a turn for the better last week when finally, bloody finally, one of the social workers actually deemed my Father does NOT have the capacity to make rational decisions. Finally someone has a bit of common sense, however, the fat controller at the top of the tree, might still refuse funding and might still think he can be sent home to fall down stairs, scald himself, set the house on fire and kill himself.
That is how the Sheffield Council Gestapo work. They are unwittingly, like the kapos in concentration camps, doing the Nazi-Tory’s dirty work for them because they’ve been told they won’t have a job if they don’t save money in any way they can, regardless of the harm they cause to mind and body of human beings. Inhuman in a word. Jobsworths in another. All of them.

I need a break. We need to go somewhere different. Holland and Germany are too close to family. I’ll never go to to America. We know somebody in Puerto Rica, Pedro his name is. He’s invited us over a few times. So have the Aussie stockcar racing guys we know. And two Aussies who now live in New Zealand.

Before we go anywhere, we need a cat sitter as well. Our usual one has just had a mastectomy and is recuperating in her new home in Vlissingen. She has the breast cancer gene, so do her daughters and they both have daughters themselves. Nightmare. The old cat is getting older and shows her pleasure when we come home from work. She never used to. We were just servants in a restaurant. Now she miauws when we arrive home. We thinks she is lonely, scared of being alone. She’s 12 and has a touch of the old Arthur Itus. She now has a new enemy, a long haired ginger cat. I think it is cute, it has a really squeaky miauw but it has to get the glass of water treatment whenever I see it for our own cat’s sanity.
The cat is currently listening to Deutschland 83, really trying to understand the German words, she understands a little Dutch such as komen or nee or komen uit de regen but the  German language has thrown her a bit. (Cameron’s office spells language “langauge”.)
Tory wnakrse!

Talking of glasses which I was re; the ginger cat, I hate them. I only need them for reading  and only one eye is dodgy, my right eye. I’m forever leaving them lying about. I have 4 pairs, two for close up stuff, 2 for when I’m on my laptop or at work looking at the monitor. I left my laptop specs somewhere a few hours ago and had no idea. Until I went in the fridge for some milk.
They looked okay until I put them on then they steamed up and I couldn’t see anything.



One comment

  1. Hi Mick….Yeah! Sounds like you need a ‘Break’…. 👀 Nice picture of your dad…one can see/sense he is not entirely ‘himself’….Hopefully, you can get him settled…that would help you a great deal.
    Better think seriously about that ‘Break’. BIG BEAR HUG!


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