It seems my precious fruit bread isn’t even safe from the ravages of the toaster, burning irreparably in the time it would take any normal piece of bread just to defrost. This does not a happy Clarko make. Speaking of unhappy, I the payslips I needed work to print off for me ended up being the wrong ones altogether, so I must wait... and try again.
Tonight everyone’s in for a double treat, as we celebrate Katie’s birthday in true style (that is, eating food and wearing party hats), then jump ship soon after dessert and head over to Stewie’s to celebrate his birthday with a flurry of drinking and death-metal-listening-to. In true Stewie style, of course.
But for now, work. I’m sure by tonight I’ll be pallid and sunken-eyed, as is my usual Saturday-night trick. All work and no sleep makes Chris a dead-looking boy.