Having received a grand total of zero offers of companionship since my plea on Wednesday, I begin my two-week holiday alone. Never to worry, I always have my journal for company, and also my friend, Harold. Harold who?, I hear you ask. Well, it's good ol' Bishop boy, innit?

So, anyway, I go into work today, and find an arm in a carrier bag. Seriously. Pray, let me explain. I work with a person with one arm (due to a rather unfortunate water-skiing accident some twenty years ago), and after his trip to the hospital yesterday to get a new arm fitted, he dropped a bag of shopping when carrying it (the shopping, not the arm) home. He quickly grabbed the shopping with his "good" arm, and found that it was actually his other "arm" that fell off.

That led to me having to carry a 21" television today, for fear of him dropping it (and indeed his arm, frightening the customers no end). I'm only 5'5", so the sight of me carrying this is apparently amusing for the female contingent who work on the floor. Lovely jubbly.

Mental note to self: Don't go back to KFC. Their fries taste like cardboard, and the popcorn "chicken" tastes like batter covered in more batter if it's not consumed within 30 seconds of being "cooked".