Gathan Beaga


At work I wasn’t up to much. Work was done, though not with joy.

It’s totally down to what Doctors call PHD, or Post Holiday Disorder1.

PHD is a state of mind characterised by irrational grumpiness; excessive sarcasm; a lack of communication; and a questioning of one’s reasons for working in the first place. I spared the people around me the worst of it by getting lost in a Sigur Rós jag for most of the day.

And so I was certainly not fit to assist the Bowlingtonista this evening, although I still covet a team t-shirt.

So it’s nice to have another day off tomorrow. The mere thought has put me in a better frame of mind: that and the bottle of late harvest R. found in the spare room and we are sharing while she watches Dancing with the Stars and I finally implement gravatars on

Tomorrow, in between explaining the horrors of war to the eldest (out of earshot of the youngest), I’ll be reading some more of the very interesting biography of Peter Kropotkin; perhaps some usage of the Wii; and a spot of relaxation with the family.

Then to work again on Thursday. Bah!

1 That and the fact that while I was away little appears to have been done towards an immovable deadline occurring on Monday. But then, as someone wisely pointed out to me today, “What! You came back from holiday and found that no-one had done your work for you!”