A Batchelor In The North

Have you ever had one of those moments when you ask yourself, "What day is it?". I did that yesterday, and couldn't quite make up my mind whether it was Saturday or Sunday. I knew it was a weekend day, because on Friday I remember reading the Fink's Weekend Central. He still hasn't got the hang of the Web Grab, it's supposed to direct you to the best sites on the internet. Unless he visits my blog, how's he going to know what he has been missing so far? There's an exclusive in the pipeline...

In the end, I made up my mind that it was Sunday yesterday, not that it matters, and that today being Monday I have an appointment at the Hull Area Business Advice Centre (HABAC), and another appointment with my bank manager, at Barclay's, who keep him in a cupboard and only bring him out when it is necessary. Four hours sleep and I am back on the computer, having reheated in the microwave half of the fish, chips and peas I did not eat last night from the chippy. It's the first time that I have had this for breakfast! If you have ever seen Wallace and Gromit, I'm a bit like Wallace in that I get out of bed and simply put on my clothes and that's the start of my day. I keep meaning to do what most normal men do, that is, wash, shave, clean my teeth, and comb my hair. Image. But, I never get around to it, settling instead with just a shit.

When I came back to the computer, I check The Times, and note that it is registering The Sunday Times. Could it be that they have not woken up at The Times yet? I check the date, 4th of March, and then hover the mouse over the time displayed on the computer and this correlates with The Times. "Oh, its Sunday, then, not Monday", which means that I have not got any appointments until tomorrow. It's a day of rest.

No rest for the wicked...