fatvegan

Well, seven days after coming back from leave I'm off again. I couldn't really cope. This time it's for three weeks and I don't know what is going to happen at the end. I'm perhaps looking for a job that needs a web developing disabilities support worker with an economics degree.

Me: What did the two of you do this afternoon?
Them: He shouted me a chocolate cornetto in his cubby house. Which I ate. Then he shouted me a caramel chip cornetto and I ate that too. Then he shouted me a baked raspberry cheesecake. I ate them all, one after the other. When I finished one, I ate the next one.
Me: Goodness me. What a feast! How does he afford all this? Where does he get his money?
Them: [thinking] ...it's no problem. He has the money. The money is no problem for him.
Me: Did he inherit money from his parents?
Them: [doubtful] Yes... no... the cornetto is in the freezer. It's already in the freezer see. No problem. We don't need any money.

One or both of the wheels will have a spoke that looks different to the others. It will be a tube built into the spoke and the tube contains a lug with a spring to keep it in place. The lug holds the wheel onto the axle. You can create a hole in the plastic cylinder so you can manually slide the lug away from the axle. The hole needs to be a reasonable size to be able to move the lug far enough but you don't want to destroy the cylinder. Depending on the state of the mechanism you may just be able to put the wheel back by hitting the centre with a hammer. But the spring mechanism will probably need to be in tact for the lug to stay in place.

Them: Ryan, when can we go get a new teapot?
Me: Right now?
Them: [shouting and waving arms in the air] YAY! HURRAY! HURRAY! HURRAY!
Me: Wooooo! Yes! New teapot!
Them: OK OK. Keep your shirt on.

One of my housemates has learnt to spin underpants around on their finger like a stripper. It is quite a neat skill, but it makes encouraging them to get dressed in the morning a much funnier experience than is probably helpful.

Before I came to my current community, the image I'd always had in my head was of pleasant, peaceful assistants gliding around an immaculate house exuding a very unconfronting sort of spiritual glow. I knew I certainly didn't fit the bill, so I was reluctant to join up. Luckily, the reality wasn't nearly so intimidating. All my human dysfunction and general incompetence actually made me feel right at home. It was wonderful.

One might expect the story to end there, with our houses coasting along happily and marginally. However, yesterday a new kind of assistant arrived at my house. Unlike the rest of us, she seems to represent the miracle assistant that I had thought this community was filled with. Kind and patient. Interesting and interested. Conversational but certainly not dominating. Experienced. Prayerful. And despite all that, so friendly that no one even feels intimidated.

A few months ago I had about eight pairs of underpants. Now I maybe have two. It's a problem easily solved I suppose but it does make me wonder about myself. And feel a little embarrassed for the the trail of immodest carnage it appears I must have left behind me in that time.

It seems that the insurance market for carbon storage is finally starting to get up and running. Obviously, it only insures companies for the low danger of the first 50 years, and not the rather more difficult to insure period of eternity. Luckily for the corporations the life expectancy of a Fortune 500 corporation is only 40-50 years, so they don't need insurance for eternity.

Stupid stupid stupid.

I had thought the flare pockets on the side of my Special Forces Assault Pack were totally useless. Not owning any flares it seemed an unnecessary feature. But being a vegan, I'm prone to Vitamin B12 deficiency and it turns out the flare pockets are almost perfectly suited to carrying my B12 tablets.

Them: [standing at my bedroom door] I like you Ryan.
Me: I like you too.
Them: Please don't shoot me Ryan.
Me: No. I won't shoot you.
Them: [unsure] Um... because... um... I want to be alive to see my friend.
Me: Yes. It's OK. I won't shoot you.
Them: [long silence] Thankyou Ryan. See you. [walks down the stairs]