i've been so busy at work at the moment its really not funny. there's a boardgames club in the next town that i want to try out and a local fencing club that i know i should do something about too. the problem: actually spending weekday nights in my own house.

the company i.... sorry, we work for has got a massive contract to look at a gigantic mill conversion in the north of england. really boring stuff: miles and miles of structural timbers that somehow i got stiffed with preparing the report for. it essentially means that i get to see more wood than paris hilton.

the guy i've been working with is a student on a work placement year and is in his early twenties and full of questions. which is cool for a couple of days, but starts wearing thin after 4 days on a building site with 4" of mud, a liberal approach to health and safety, and demolishion workers who know maybe 20 different words. he currently has an unhealthy fixation with top gun. seriously, if he's not suggesting that the lord damn maverick, sending inspection equipment to miramar or refering to the floor as the hard-deck, he's calling me his wing-man.

i know, i know he's young and the film came out when he was 2years old so he'll get over it. it's wearing though i tell you, wearing.

Next week i'm off to the sunny isle of guernsey to have row about dry rot with a builder. w00t.