Post by floplexter on Jan 4, 2021 13:25:07 GMT
Masktastic, stu. Sounds like you will come out on some kind of right side of alright. Now you have the Bidotron in charge, too- I am sure gold will start springing out of all your butts or something.
Something of a rollercoaster year, there, BoYo. It's been a beast, hasn't it? Our year is mostly one of thwartage.
Last day in office was 20 March 2020. Little chance of returning before Easter. Working from home is a mixed bag. Beneficial in many ways, but fucking knackering.
We've been lucky in that during "proper" lockdown we had all the girls here, plus one of their friends, exiled from the island. We have a decent sized house and garden so it wasn't bad. I felt for those on their own, cooped up in flats or with small kids. I have ended up being some kind of social comforter, running a quiz every Friday, mostly populated by young colleagues living on their own.
We have been thwarted in all plans to have a holiday on Coll as we are both desperately homesick. The big girls have pretty much settled in Edinburgh and the wee one (16) is at home and undecided about any future. With Highers cancelled, she could well leave school never having sat an exam (Nat 5s cancelled last year). Until the government wake up and smell the coffee and close the fucking schools for a while, we will be stuck in this cycle of waves, in my opinion.
Anyway, Catriona's dad died suddenly on 1 October which has defined everything since then. Just dropped in the garden of a heart attack. Ripped the family to pieces in terms of emotions; we were all incredibly close to him, especially my kids. So the one time we got back to the island this year was for his funeral. Sucks. Made the homesickness forty times worse, knowing the family home for 50 years is up for sale.
Ah well, we cannot choose paths at the moment; they are defined for us by some virii and an incompetent set of fucknuts in charge. New Year on Coll was obviously cancelled by Level 4 and all other bets are off.
As it is, I read applications most of the day; Economics and Management. Personal statements awash with financial guff and professions of love for Game Theory. Could be worse. I could live in England, fnar fnar.
Something of a rollercoaster year, there, BoYo. It's been a beast, hasn't it? Our year is mostly one of thwartage.
Last day in office was 20 March 2020. Little chance of returning before Easter. Working from home is a mixed bag. Beneficial in many ways, but fucking knackering.
We've been lucky in that during "proper" lockdown we had all the girls here, plus one of their friends, exiled from the island. We have a decent sized house and garden so it wasn't bad. I felt for those on their own, cooped up in flats or with small kids. I have ended up being some kind of social comforter, running a quiz every Friday, mostly populated by young colleagues living on their own.
We have been thwarted in all plans to have a holiday on Coll as we are both desperately homesick. The big girls have pretty much settled in Edinburgh and the wee one (16) is at home and undecided about any future. With Highers cancelled, she could well leave school never having sat an exam (Nat 5s cancelled last year). Until the government wake up and smell the coffee and close the fucking schools for a while, we will be stuck in this cycle of waves, in my opinion.
Anyway, Catriona's dad died suddenly on 1 October which has defined everything since then. Just dropped in the garden of a heart attack. Ripped the family to pieces in terms of emotions; we were all incredibly close to him, especially my kids. So the one time we got back to the island this year was for his funeral. Sucks. Made the homesickness forty times worse, knowing the family home for 50 years is up for sale.
Ah well, we cannot choose paths at the moment; they are defined for us by some virii and an incompetent set of fucknuts in charge. New Year on Coll was obviously cancelled by Level 4 and all other bets are off.
As it is, I read applications most of the day; Economics and Management. Personal statements awash with financial guff and professions of love for Game Theory. Could be worse. I could live in England, fnar fnar.