I hauled myself out of bed with all the reluctance of dog being forcibly removed from his prime spot in front of the fire. The rain was absolutely hammering it down and the wind was howling like a madman. I left my family and the cat snuggled up together under the duvet while I made my weary way down to the car.

The drive to work isn’t too bad and I have to admit to a slight feeling of smugness as I go against the flow of traffic coming into Inverness, I work near Alness and fortunately for me I’m one of the few that do. The drive across the 2 bridges was somewhat dicey, with the wind doing it’s damndest to hurl me into the Moray Firth.

Work’s ok, if ever so slightly boring. It’s the canteen that provides the real entertainment. Sharing my lunchtime with a Vicky Pollard a-like and a Catherine Tate a-like provided me with a frightening insight into life as a Black Isle Young Lady about Town. Speech is spoken at machine gun fire rate:

‘Whatyoudo at theweekend?’

'AhwentootwithJaniceandTraceyandLaurenandwewentclubbin yeah?'

'That Janice she'sarightfukinslut yeah?'

'Yeah, anyway, wegotacoupleoflitresofciderandgotreallyfuckinblootered and anyway yeah, Sharon(TheSlut) sleptwithJohn(TheBastard) notthatI'mbovvered becauseIsnoggedMurdoandhe'shunglikeafukindonkey!'

-brays of laughter-

-and breathe-


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