● I’ve been trying to persuade a nursery to provide support for Tash, a young mum, and her baby, Brash (half her mum’s and half her dad’s name).
Tash was at her most impressive direct and to-the-point best during our application meeting: “Well are we coming here or not then? ‘Cos I’ve got stuff to do today you know”. I gave a look to the nursery manager that I had hoped said: “Young people today eh? No manners at all”. But I think it conveyed slightly more admiration than was good for the application. We find out next week.
Back at their house, Tash gets Brash out the car seat whereupon he promptly throws up all over my back seat. For such a small baby there’s a lot of vomit. I open their house door and their dog races out leaps in the car and, for once I’m glad it hasn’t got its muzzle on, as it starts to hoover up all the sick.
Tash invites me in for a drink. I’m in no mood for a blue WKD and set off back to the office with all the windows open.
Betty in reception says I’m not entitled to have access to the cleaner’s cupboard as I haven’t got a health and safety certificate or any understanding of Control of Substances Hazardous to Health regulations. I explain to her in return that in a post-apocalyptic society there will be a greater need for the ability to just get on with it than worry about red tape. Betty gives me a withering look, tells me not to bother her with my big ideas and suggests it’s about time I got some work done.
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