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Good Friday…

Good Friday. Much of the rest of the country is out and about, having fun. Me? I’m at work. Ok, I’m making amends for missing much of the early part of the week. But it feels bad. Very bad. As do I. I have a wisdom tooth that has decided to make some kind of final push. I have a cold. I have v dry eyes. My head hurts. I am in no mood to be here. And I plan to make an early exit. From what I can see through the vertically hanging blinds behind the horizontally hanging blinds inside the glass office the editor sits in right in front of me, the sun is shining. It looks like a great day out there. And I want me a piece of the action. If ever a day was designed for sitting in a beer garden, pint of frothy, cold lager in hand, this could well be it. But I must buy choccie eggs for loved ones and cast aside all thoughts of liquid refreshment. Driving on the A1079 at 90mph on a Bank Holiday is fun, by the way, although, naturally, I wouldn’t condone such behaviour.

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