after the rain comes sun again

My current employment is with a company who carry out streetworks on behalf of BT, so the news banded about the mainstream media today about bizarre financial incentives took my attention. When BT sniffle, my company sneeze. Massive pay-cuts for not being seen until January, “term-time” employment, and bonuses for highscores on Facebook quizzes – only one of which is made up – are ideas which should be applauded cautiously. These troubled times are deleting many millions from the order books of some very large companies, indeed one our own “high ups” gathered us around for the kind of talk usually concluded with the announcement naming which two of us would be nominated and up for the public vote.

Okay, so bizarre news is all over the place recently. Michael Owen to Manchester United is not just unexpected it is almost as though history has flung a rumour from ten years ago into the spin-cycle of contemporary headlines: the usual saturation on the sports channels is tinged with total disbelief.

The heatwave now over – ish – I found myself the other night lying in a toasty-warm room, shirtless, listening to Olive’s drum-and-bass lead/only single “You’re Not Alone”, in a scene which could have been another drawn from history and flung through time and space. My cluttered and not-so-ordered mind has not prepared for anything which is to come between now and somewhere on the windier side of October. There’s the house-move itself, three weeks of getting to work on a budget tighter than most airlines, a pre-camping holiday drinking session, and the delivery of 2-and-a-bit-thousand Liberal Democrat leaflets. Somewhere at the end of all this is an exhausted body flinging itself into the Ribble. Every other day my mind remembers something important – email landlady, buy a better rucksack, check Burscough’s new signings – but until there’s one to focus on entirely there’s going to be more changeable thoughts, some kind of “cerebral sunshine and showers”, for some time yet.

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