here there were dragons

I have decided that the chances of getting a document that went something of the lines of "Penis, penis, penis, penis, penis...etc" rubber stamped all the way up the chain of command without any body actually bothering to look and the ruddy thing extraordinarly good (see also the Brits and their papal visit doc).

In other words, the cretins good gentlemen are out in force today and that coffee I've had has just made me jittery and crankier still. It all started with a stupid dream/nightmare about what a crap day I was going to have (not terribly prescient, given the odds) and it's just gone downhill from there, really.

And somebody went and beheaded my dragon. It was a ceramic dragon given as a gift from a friend for my garden. Not the sort of thing I'd pick normally (I couldn't even show you a photo of the fresco that'd make a Pompeii brothel owner weep in envy that proudly adorns my garden trellis) but I grew attached to his ugly mug, sadly now detached. The corellas were playing soccer with it but I'm not sure if they did the deed 'cause he was looking at 'em funny or just having convenient sport with the head. Not sure who did it. Certainly the cockatoos were so infuriated that the local shops ran out of their preferred brand of seed brick that they utterly destroyed and shredded three of my prized geraniums that used to ornament the veranda into two centimetre/inch long pieces, just the other day, just so as I knew it just would not do, so they're definitely in the frame, as are the feral cats (who are just evil). Harumph.
( more: retreating behind the sofa )