When the cat's away the mice part-ay!
I know, I know, I forgot to write a blog entry yesterday, stop your whining, we'll all cope with it in our own ways. Mr R is on holiday! It is wonderful.
No "What are you on with?" every 8 seconds. No having to look at the back of his shiny head, no laughing every time he mentions the word "period" (which really annoys him)... I miss that actually. Anyway, we had a very busy day yesterday, lots and lots of phone calls about equipment breaking down over the B.H.W.
That is not to say the catering equipment or refrigeration we sell is faulty or in any way unreliable. But when you make as many fryers as Parry, fridges as Valera or Bains Marie as Lincat then something's bound to go wrong every now and then. Speaking of going wrong, let's go back to school. When we left off I was terrorising maths teachers and disabling 1st years (which, let's face it, is all they deserve).
What about outside school? Well when I was 14 myself and a friend buried 55 cans of lager in the wood at the bottom of my garden in a wood-lined hole camoflagued with foliage. This was soon discovered and the beer returned to the shops from whence it came and the money given to alcoholics annonymous by my father, a stern man.
We regularly made petrol bombs and other explosives, flamethrowers, zip lines, rope swings, crossbows, dens, swiss arrows, traps, tripwires, snow shoes, sledges, ice hockey sticks and pucks for use on our partially frozen pond. We used to shoot air rifles, pistols, shotguns, bb-guns, GAT's at squirrels, birds, people and once a hot air balloon (the occupants of which were NOT happy).
The police turning up on our doorstep was a regular occurance. Standing ankle deep in a river under a road bridge was our usual hiding place. We knew every way possible to break into and out of each other's houses and we knew every hidey hole, escape route, road, track and railway line in a 5 miles radius. Them were ' days... sigh.