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Tart

I've spent the majority of Easter weekend building my new office.  What used to be a garage has now got a new levelled Floor from a ton of sand and a third of a ton of cement.  I've also bought patio doors, studded and insulated the walls, and wired the place for plugs and lighting.  The floor was the worst part for me because I have no experience laying mortar floors.  The stud walls were fairly straight forward, and the wiring was easy.  I've ten dimmable down-lights going into the ceiling, divided into two sets of five of, which will be controllable on individual switches.  I also have two PIR-controlled outside lights and ten double-plugs throughout the room.

I've enjoyed the experience, but a side effect of it is that I can't sit still at the moment and I bore easily.  TV is a torture (unless its Game of Thrones) and I end up getting up and leaving in the middle of whatever is boring me.

Cookery shows especially annoy me.  There are contestants all vying to win some competition and they're all in a panic because their apple Tart (or whatever) hasn't risen properly.  The judges show up and examine the tart as if its the most important thing ever produced by human hands.  They complain about how it hasn't risen or that its cracked, or that it has too much of this, or too little of that.  It drives me insane because its just a bloody apple tart.  Who gives a flying toss if it needed an extra spoonful of sugar or 30 seconds more in the oven.  Eat the bloody thing and be done with it.  If you're in a stew (excuse the cookery pun) about an apply tart then you deserve to be taken out and whipped by a short, fat man in a tuxedo.  Your life is sad and you're a pishmire.



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