Conversations on the naughty seat

Carol has spent the weekend tidying up her garden: moving the plants around, cutting the grass and re-hanging the door on the shed whilst the old man relaxes in bed with the paper. A third greenhouse must be erected for the tortoises who were found dispersed indoors having made the great escape. There are a lot of tortoises; so many in fact that they had to count them to determine how many were missing. I had no idea tortoises could move so quickly. 'Oh yes, put them down here and they'd be by that wall in twenty seconds'. The foot of the wall in question can't be seen through a trough of fag ends; all the ash-trays having long since disappeared. We are on the smoking bench looking at the sign which says 'this is a non-smoking area'. There is a nasty rumour prevailing which suggests that a member of the fag police has been taking photos of the occupants of the bench. Why? 'They' know who we are. And anyway, we are the only ones who religiously put our dog-ends in the bin. Which reminds me: I haven't seen the man with the long-handled fag removing implement lately. That's what comes of being conscientious....you put people out of work.

We have exhausted all conversation about the restructuring. No-one cares any more and we are sick to the back teeth of our smug companion further down the bench. He's retiring soon so sports a constant snigger. The other bloke's had all his shifts changed to accommodate the fact that two of them are now doing five people's jobs. He's in a dark place and seems to be physically shrinking. I think there's every possibility that he will murder Mr.Smug before the week's out. Still, the weather's nice. Oh well, tea-break over. Back on your heads lads.

Eat your heart out Danyl

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ekta6EKhb2g&feature=related