Previously On Battlestar Galactiborg:

Work

Still meandering along in the same job.  Since we've gone corporate now - by which I mean that our main activity is scamming our own employer with faked timesheets - I find myself quite content with my situation, so we'll have none of your jibes.

One reason that I was holding off on posting was that I wanted to jump in with a SURPRISE MUDDASUCKERS diary in which I pay off the mortgage with my share loot, buy a small but well armed sloop, and take to the high seas in search of salty seamen booty and such.  Well, the days and weeks turned into, mmm, months and years, and I swear to the ISG himself that we were just about to IPO last October when someone blabbed about the whole "global economy based on over-valuing of fiat pixie dust", and then came the zombies.  So I guess getting rich and wreaking my revenge on all who have slighted me will have to wait for this distasteful dalliance with reality to be forgotten and good healthy naked greed and cognitive dissonance to re-assert itself.

On the bright side, our CEO did get caught bunging a bag full of £££ to nuLabour[1], so we're definitely blue chip now.  The only remaining question is whether he expects a gong in return, or is angling for a safe seat come the next general snout-counting.

Health

Well, we're none of us as young as the woman we feel any more, and I had the pleasure of being passed from one latex-and-lubed[2] medico to another until the solution to a... personal problem... was arrived at.  I believe the procedure has a technical name, but I prefer to refer to the instrument used as Mr Nobchisel.  You may now perform the obligatory attempt to top that, but be aware that I hold in the reserve my "... then I had a bag strapped to my calf for a week."

On an unrelated matter, I started drinking again after a hiatus of (... pause for finger assistance...) 7+ years.  Apparently it's plusgood now, which makes the rationalisation an absolute breeze.  Verdict: ice cold beer is the only thing separating us from The Terrorists.  I can't help but feel that I've missed an opportunity to taunt some AA cultists, but I suppose that there's nothing to stop me from doing that anyway for purely recreational purposes.

Offpsring

The offspring previously known as Mr Rogerborglet (4.75 years) shall henceforth be hailed among all the land as "Master Borglet".  He has become a surly, stubborn little brat who considers the attention and opinions of other people to be entirely irrelevant, and who would cut off his own nose to spite his face rather than change his mind once he has declared his opposition to any course of action.  In other words, I could not be more proud of him.  I expect some of Farmgirl's recessive genetic code has made it in there, but if so, it has yet to manifest itself.

Miss Borglet (1.35 years) is, as I suspect all daddy's daughters are, a perfect angel.  That is to say, blue of eye, flawless of complexion, buttoned of nose, and terrible and indomitable in her wrath.  My shields are useless against her polycuteonic attacks.  Run, run, before you too fall under her thrall.

Spousal relations

I'm not really sure how to broach this.  I know it's a delicate issue round here at the moment, and the subject of this section may read and even respond to it, if she can drag herself away from her oestro forums, so I won't be too explicit.  I am... OK, I'll just say it... I am happily married to a woman that I love, who every day becomes hotter and dirtier and a better companion and soulmate.  And can drive a tractor.

ISG, I'm sorry... that may have been way TMI.  Sorry if I crossed any boundaries there.

General moaning and bitching and what not

Not today, chumps.  You're going to have to give a little before you receive.

So, who's pitching, who's receiving, who's still infected with what, and who's doing what to who via which lawyers?

[1] How delightful that we live in times where I am confident that this doesn't really narrow down who I work for.

[2] Fingers, fingers.