Wednesday, January 11

Grave Digger Required

I'm on a bit of a Dickens jag at the moment and have just been watching Edwin Drood on telly.

Drood was duly murdered then I went and checked out some small ads, I found a job advert for a Grave Digger, the job description stated that:

Candidates must have previous experience in all tasks associated with the preparation of graves ...

Wednesday, January 4


Heads, heads - take care of your heads!" cried the loquacious stranger, as they came out under the low archway, which in those days formed the entrance to the coach-yard. "Terrible place - dangerous work - other day - five children - mother - tall lady, eating sandwiches - forgot the arch - crash - knock - children look round - mother's head off - sandwich in her hand - no mouth to put it in - head of a family off - shocking, shocking!

Pickwick Papers: Charles Dickens

I lost my voice a few days ago, I can muster enough wind to squeak or whisper and make my predicament clear but it's easier to stay silent and it’s been fascinating how people react to this; a chap delivering wood to the house yesterday scrunched himself up, presented himself sideways and whispered at me from the corner of his mouth as though afraid that, unarmed with my own voice, his might shatter me into a million pieces.

Then there are people who must converse, I can usually head off brewing nonsense before it becomes torrential but today at the hairdressers I was helpless as a lady who clearly couldn’t bear the idea of there being no sound let her voice run riot in the face of my mutitude.

...everyone has this bug, I think it’s the weather getting cold then warming up ... the germs hang around at a lower level when it does that...

...Christmas, it took ages coming this year didn’t it? And then it came all of a sudden and much more than usual.

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