New kid on the block

II shall be reentering the fulltime workforce. It would be unfair on the competition for me to spout on specifically about what I’m going to be doing, so I won’t. Let’s just say I’ll be out and about a bit chatting with people.

Luckily my new employer is happy for me to keep supplying you, dear reader, with a morning giggle each week via this column so that will mean Mrs P can still afford to buy something we don’t need every time Briscoe’s has a sale.

I actually got the job the best part of three months ago but the start date wasn’t till mid-may.

No drama, I thought. I’d have plenty of time to sort out all those little loose ends that inevitably need tying up, even though I’ve been largely unemployed this past year and had thought there were no ends at all to deal with, loose or otherwise.

And naturally, seeing as my new role will see me doing something a little more physical rather than stuck in front of a computer screen all day, I’d get a bit of fitness under my belt. Lose a bit of weight too. That sort of thing.

Unfortunately, life being what it is, none of that has happened.

I’m still trim, taut and terrific (obviously) but that’s when I suck my belly in and hold my breath. I’m just hoping first impressions are over and done with before I turn blue.

And I don’t seem to have stopped doing time-consuming “things” which ate into the time I had available. So, there’s been a bit of a mad rush over the past few days to get ready. Sort of like when you first start school.

The other day Mrs P took me into town and bought me a backpack and a lunch box.

I figured that would be OK. I needed a new bag anyway and a lunchbox, by default, suggests I’m going to get lunch every day. Bonus. Especially after I’ve just made do with whatever I can find in the cupboard at home for the past 12 months.

I’m picking we’ll start off with a hiss and a roar and my lunchbox will be full of all manner of delights and secret notes slipped under a chocolate chip cookie saying “I love you” or Apparently they are not and any

door.● something similar. suggestion to the contrary is

But I’m not silly. After met with utter disdain a while taking my and a nose poked in lunch will become the air which so normal I’ll suggests fashion probably end sense has up with a completely sandwich – eluded me probably old these past 58 cheese - hastily years. thrown When that together as I happens I just race out the tend to slink away Anyway. in my baggy T-shirt Just like when I and fleecy track was starting school points and wait for the Mum, er I mean Mrs P, disgust in the air to waft decided I also needed a good pair of away. black pants. But I digress. Black pants.

Now regular readers of my Before I know it Mrs P has me at scribblings will recall I have written a local outlet and I’m strutting my stuff about the black pants phenomenon up and down in front of the inevitable before. mirror as we, I mean she and the

It seems women the world over 18-year old shop assistant, work out simply have to have such a pair in their whether they “work”. closet. It’s the law. Mrs P has several As someone who has gone almost pairs. To me they all look the same. a year in shorts – May 31 is my target

– I’m not hugely enthused about the purchase but I accept my new role may call for a more formal appearance from time to time.

So, I just go with the flow and hand over the moolah.

Next it’s shoes. Or more particularly boots. Steel capped, just in case I need to go somewhere where my toes are at risk from more than a bunion.

Mrs P has some input here too. It seems brown is perfectly OK with black pants these days. Who would have thought? Next time I’m on a construction site I’ll interrupt the smoko discussion about the football and bring up the subject.

Finally, I’m all set.

Just like for my first day at school

I’ll be setting off excitedly with my new bag, a nice lunch, a new pair of black pants and a shiny pair of new brown boots.

Later, when I get home, we’ll probably share a cuppa and I’ll tell her about all the things I did that day.

I might even draw her a picture she can put up on the door of the fridge.

Mrs P has some input here too. It seems brown is perfectly OK with black pants these days. Who would have thought?