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Dirty Protest

We all have those days. You know the ones: You’re tired, maybe you have a headcold, perhaps you’re a bit hungover from a few too many glasses of wine or beer the night before, perhaps, indeed your morning commute involves being parked in city traffic for fifty minutes going nowhere.

On the really bad days, perhaps, as I have had today, you’ve got all of them at once!

These are the days which really make you not want to make the effort, not want to have to deal with the traffic of the commute, not want to drag your tired, mucus spewing, hung-over carcass out of bed and cope with a normal working day but would much prefer to stay at home with your gorgeous wife and beautiful two year old daughter…

Trudge, trudge, sneeze, cough, trudge.

Then you get a phone call from home like this:

Do you know what our daughter has done?

She has taken off her nappy, pooped in a corner of her bedroom and then stomped around in it!

followed by another call an hour later which is:

She’s now done the same thing with her afternoon yoghurt and stomped it all  over the living room floor!

Y’know what… my job ain’t so bad. Commuting’s easy. A cold’s just an excuse for a good sinus clean out and two paracetamol will soon put paid to the hangover dues. Everything is relative and sometimes, just sometimes, the grass is greener just where you are.

Think I’m going to sing all the way home on this evening’s commute.