Out of Order

All afternoon, I've been trying to write a post about our office toilet being out of order. I have to go to the toilets that are further away and have, as a consequence, gone much less frequently than I usually would.

But each time I start the post, I abandon it before the second paragraph. It's just not interesting.

So I've taken a meta approach where I tell you about wanting to write it, thereby writing it. This does not make the content any more interesting, but it does at least put a buffer of awareness around the whole thing. Neither of us are enjoying it, but as least we know we're not enjoying it.

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I wrote the above several days ago. Obviously, I thought that it didn't merit publishing. I could just delete it and start afresh, but I can't hide anything from you, Dear Reader

For the record, the toilets are still out of order. I think they've just forgotten about them, and nobody has been brave enough to remind them.

Imagine having to email the facilities team and ask them about the toilets. That's tantamount to sending them a photograph of your bladder, with the subject line "Re: AND AN POO FOR URGENCY!?!". It's tantamount to that.

So all of the men in our office - and there are at least one of us - will have to suffer the ignominy and the exertion of going to the far-away toilets (by Enid Blyton). We'll see each other there, knowing we were all too cowardly to improve our own lives.

But it's a beautiful day outside.

I'd be out on the balcony if it wasn't for the loud building work going on at the school next to our building. I could put in some earholephones, I suppose. That would block out the drilling and hollering. I could enjoy the sunshine, drink a mug of tea and listen to some Mungo Jerry at full volume.

But there's a blog post to write. It's important.

I'm not afraid of bees, if that's what you're thinking.

...

Here are some tweets I've written about bees.

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Oh man, I remember this HILARIOUS time when some uni friends and I gatecrashed a hive. (You had to be a bee there)

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I struggle to keep both my composure and bees.

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Coffee didn't do much to refresh me. Maybe I should splash some cold wafer in my face, or dip my head into a bucket of iced bees.

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"Zoo", "bee", "goal", "wicket" and "brother's" are the main types of keeper.

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I dreamt about bees last night, and when I woke up I was covered in stripes.

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It's annoying when people say jovially "How are you? Keeping out of trouble?" whilst I'm plummeting towards a beehive.

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The bee's knees only seem good in comparison to his AWFUL shins.

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The simplest journey a bee can make is from A to itself.

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Don't call honey "honey". It's patronising. Call it bee-goo.

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Behind-the-ear is an ideal holster for pencil, glasses-arm or stowaway bee.

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I take double-yellow lines seriously, which is why I never park on a bee.

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I'd like to carry a bumblebee in a melon baller. How satisfying would that be? Very satisfying.

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My friend keeps repeating "A beard of a million bees! A beard of a million bees!" He sounds like a broken record.

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I interviewed for a job I thought was a bee-keeper. It turned out to be a beak-heaper. And it just depressed me. It was sad. All those beaks

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I've been busy today. Like a bee. But instead of pollen, I've been collecting reasons to hate myself.

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I've got a bee in my bonnet. And an oh, two ens, an ee and a tee.

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Zix-zix-zix: The Number of the Bees.

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Honey is the root of all Beeville.

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Not a great hit-rate there. Some decent ones.

Peter Serafinowicz did the 'Beeville' one long after I posted mine, but I didn't want to mention it.

Doing old tweets may seem like the lazy option, but I considered far lazier options. These included not doing anything and several variants.

I'm going to go now.