You couldn’t make it up: the DAY AFTER I write an entry having a pop at the utter bastards who terrorise my early morning visits to Greggs visits than I AM ONE of the manual bastards. Yes today, on a weekend, I eschewed my non-chosen profession and gave of myself to do some labouring at a friend’s house doing-up.
You know how you have a new found respect for a person when you spend a day in their shoes? I have no respect for labourers after this day.
I am sure they put stuff in a skip far better than I can. I don’t mean to sound like I am looking down my nose at people who labour on building jobs. So, if people are being all like ‘what a prick looking down his nose at people earning an honest day’s living by carrying rubble around’ then you probably have a point; but, hey, there’d be piles of bricks all over the shop if it wasn’t for them and if it wasn’t for me there just wouldn’t be this blog. Therefore, if the people of the world/my family/any sub-group of society (including the groups who really despise building site labourers) had to vote on whether to get rid of me or them then it would definitely be me for the chopping block.
I can’t even do it properly. My arms are not very strong and therefore lifting and carrying things presents unnatural behaviour for me. I rarely had to carry anything more than about 15 metres and I rarely had to carry anything that heavy¹. The visual effect – for the onlooker – meant you got the movement of someone competing in The World’s Strongest Man contest. Only instead of a big fat man with a beard carrying something heavy for no reason, it was a small fat man with a beard carrying something unheavy to a skip. But the noises and red face were the same.
¹There was a bit where I did try and lift something very heavy, only I dropped it and it hit someone’s leg.
Just look at my hard day’s trousers. You don’t get trousers like this pushing paper around no office…