Must have been the sun dried tomatoes

Max Cadey and Councilor donned their hard hats and located their ear defenders before pulling down their polycarbonate full face visors. They opened the door of the chilly, control cabin to the heat and deafening, white noise of the molten zinc bath area.
Skimming dross from the surface of molten zinc isn't a pleasant task. Zinc is heavy and so are the tools used. Noise, heat, danger all conspire to let you know 'this isn't nice'.
It's not helpful then, to find on top of all this, that you've suddenly developed a fever and an urgent need to empty your bowls.
Max speed walked first, clenching his buttocks until the 3 steps to the single toilet caused shit to fly down his legs like a flock of startled starlings.
The bizarre and sudden nature of the emergency caused him to laugh as he slumped into the toilet.
Councilor followed quickly behind him urging him to hurry up. He also became caught up in the comedic nature of the event and started laughing.
Both sweating and laughing and drained.

A few minutes later I watched Max jog the length of the plant naked from the waist down to get fresh clothes.

Clothes and some protective equipment dumped.

It was the only fun event for the rest of us, in an otherwise uneventful shift last night.

Sun dried tomatoes anyone? They'll only get thrown away.

How Do I Look?

My eldest daughter, Flicky, stands before me in a frilly white blouse knotted under her breasts, hot pants, high heels.

"How do I look?" She enquires.

"Sort of.......Hot slut.!" I reply honestly.

She smiles and gives me the double thumbs up, the desired appearance having been achieved.

Jig saw laundry day.

I looked for two hours for my power jig saw, or my hand saw would have done.
It's so frustrating. I have a hot date coming up soon and I can't find any of my saws.
Without the saws I can't do my laundry.
Fast running out of clean clothes.
I've resorted to using the slightly out of shape 'T' shirts with the hole or stains, that were once loved and so cannot be discarded.

As a last resort I try looking in the spare bedside cabinet. The cabinet isn't there. I look around the room, not there either.

Now I know I can be a bit of a scatter brain but loosing a bedside cabinet!
something's going on. The mastic gun seems to have done a runner as well.
Perhaps the kids are selling stuff to fund their hard drug habit.
No, I don't think so.
I draw the curtains and find the cabinet on the window ledge.

Surfer Dude calls round.

"Have you borrowed my jig saw?" I ask him in desperation.

"No but I've got one if you want to borrow it."

"I can't do my laundry because I haven't got my jig saw."

"You can't do your laundry because you haven't got a jig saw?" His eyebrows furrow.

"That's right, it's so frustrating." I pretend not to notice he said it as a question, because I'm a twat.

"I think I left them over my sisters." I'm starting to feel better now.

"Why do you need a jig saw to do your laundry?"

"I can't put any thing in the machine because the machine needs emptying.
I can't empty the machine because the washing line is full.
I can't empty the washing line because the airing cupboard was dismantled when the new boiler was installed.
I've got the wood and nails to re-slat the airing cupboard but need a saw to cut them to length."

He Was Framed.

Little Shippy, used to be a contractor with us. His job was specialized, and he took pride in it. Being a contractor he had his own tools in his own large, locked, tool chest.

I'm not sure if he ever figured out exactly what had occurred, the day some one asked to borrow a 4" angle grinder. He routled around in the chest until he exposed a gay porn magazine. The borrower was shocked. Said he never took Little Shippy for a sausage jockey.

Shippy protested his innocence but it was too late. He'd been outed.

For days after, people ridiculed him, called him bender, poofta asked him what it was like to have a cock up his arse, the whole spectrum.
He still protested his innocence.

Of course, everyone who ridiculed him knew the truth. Little Shippy was straight.

If he'd thought about it, he would have realised, that the only way that porn could have got there, was if someone planted it. If they planted it, they'd have to tell some one how clever and funny they'd been. If they told someone of something that funny, it would have been around the works faster than Kelly Holmes on speed.

It's not often Shippy leaves his chest both unattended and unlocked. We respected him too much to steal his tools, but we had to make the most of such a rare opportunity.

It's Show Time.

I'm not a fan of French cars. They perform very well, it's just that French engineers never make any concessions to ease of maintenance.
Take the Citroen 2CV.
For some reason, known only to themselves, the company thought it a good idea to locate the oil filter inside the engine.
Changing an oil filter, is a job that on any normal car, should take about 5 minutes.
The 2CV however, requires the whole engine to be removed and split apart.
All this on a car, which is little more than a potting shed, fitted with pram wheels and a motorcycle engine.

I took Little Miss to the circus. Uncle Sam's Great American Circus in fact.
Being an automotive nerd, I had to comment, as the clown car drove into the ring, that it was constructed on the rolling chassis of a Citroen 2CV.

"How do you know?"

She must have regretted saying that the moment the words left her mouth.

"It has the 2CV's unique leading arm front suspension." I resisted the urge to enlarge.

We watched with amusement as the engine made loud exploding noises and the doors fell off, at which point I leaned across and said,

"See, never buy a French car."

Funerals are a time for remembrance, reflection and contemplation

They are also a time for stuffing your face whilst the going is good.

Boomer

Like all one day courses we wanted to get it over with and go home. To this end, we'd crammed as much into the morning session as possible. When break time did finally arrive, we were all ready for a piss. The toilet, however only had one urinal.
Being thirsty, I'd made myself a coffee before arriving at the back of the long queue.
At the front, young Boomer was struggling. By nature a shy pisser, the pressure of being at the front of this cue was increasing his levels of anxiety to fresh heights.

Being at the back of a cue of around 9 guys all waiting for Boomer to 'kick off', I could see potential in this situation and I had nothing to loose.

I walked up to the side of the single urinal and bent my head down to within about a foot of Boomers knob and started to egg him on.

"Come on little Boo'. You can do it! Give us your best shot......"

"Oh for fucks sake." Boomer sighed in despair, "I'll never be able to start now."

He zipped up and retreated to the back of the queue.

My work here was done.

The bastards are out to get me!

My second R.T.A. in less than a month. This time a minivan wanted to occupy the same lane as myself. Unfortunately this part of the M4 between J27 and J28, has an intermittent hard shoulder, leaving me nowhere to go.