“I’m Global Operations Coordinating Manager for the Intergalactic Pan Baltic Subterranean Overland Operations Division of our North-Eastern Southern European Office”
“It’s supposed to be getting hotter for the weekend”
“If I’m busy in the evening, I might pick her up from the crèche. We have an au pair as well”
“It’s supposed to be getting cool again before getting hot again”
“I’ve only 25 days leave left”
“Corporate sponsored research piece links drop in workplace efficiency among females to absence of children. Again.”
“It’s supposed to get hotter then cooler then hot again”
“Next time on Fair City…”
“Hiya”
“I had the weirdest dream last night”
“I’m Project Manager for the Sub-sub-sub Confederate of Inter-global Constituents of the Pan-National Sectorial Division”
“You’re from where? Oh I went to college with someone from there”
“Only six weeks to the hen party!!!”
“There’s plenty of salad in the fridge”
“Your account has insufficient funds for this transaction”
“Jean Byrne just levitated in front of Longford, did an impersonation of Enya doing an impersonation of Zorro then landed back on her feet near Valencia”
“I’m MHBSAIJ Manager for the Inter-Cosmic Planetary Divisional Unit of the External Internal External Office”
department of speculation 
Back into the shade Missus. Your brain has fried in the heat
Oh dear, that bad? I’m only messin’, but your diagnosis is spot on. How are you managing this tortuously heat? I found some tights yesterday. I almost wept.
Weeeelllll, your post does ring true of a Joycelike stream of consciousness of being out in the noon day sun too long!!! I’m still prancing in my thick denim jeans. My technique is to walk very slowly on the shady side, and drink endless water. Also, due to a bit of body shrinkage, it doesn’t seem to be getting to me as bad as other summers!
Ah of course, the ever-shrinking birdie. Must be a sweet feeling. I remember Binky and I losing a combined weight of 4 stone one summer; only half of which was a beer keg *continues in annoying stream of ramble mode*
Yup 🙂 According to that damned BMI calculator I’m no longer obese, just overweight! I reckon I can claim a handicap of 7lbs per boob – so that makes me fine! Steps back into the shade…..
I’m not convinced by the reliability of the accuracy of the BMI calculator. There goes my statement of denial for the day. Don’t try arguing against me with facts, they give you an unfair advantage.
Facts are the last resort of the Unimaginative:-D
Thank fuck for that. I thought it was sarcasm.
Naw. That’s for the wit challenged!
My God, what sort of people do you eavesdrop on? And why didn’t I know this about Jean Byrne?? I normally never miss a thing she does. Obviously my drones need some tech support.
I get delirious whenever Jean’s near. Any woman that sources her accessories from NASA’s spare parts department deserves to have that effect on me.
Beautiful. I will never be able to look at her again without humming Major Tom.