The Last Tsar, the Mattress and the Sandwich

The Ghost Writer has just called by for a chill and is drinking tea saying Naaaa Ugggggg Bling Bleep Bleep Bleep. So I think we can assume he has been in the grey office trying to fix computers. I think some of the operators get him down slightly as he says solving the problems relating to the speed of electrons in a Quasar is one thing. But when you get asked if it is possible to get the PC to make a nice cheese and pickle sandwich, well? Things can get very difficult for Computer IT gurus who can’t use a George Formby (sorry Foreman) grill toaster gadget thing. The Ghost Writer has said that several of the staff have tried to use PC’s to warm their coffee up, but so far with little success, even when pored directly onto a hot processor.

Still that is enough of the Ghost Writers problems. Last night we ended up waiting for the ASDA online shopping home delivery van to arrive., who was running rather late due to a technical problem (one of the vans broke down), although he made it in the end still chirpy and full of beans (I think there might be a joke there somewhere). And now we are waiting for a mattress delivery man who said he is running a little late due to technical problems. I feel the urge to suggest we hope he will arrive with a spring in his step, but I think I might leave that out……….AH, I didn’t.  

It is one of the problems mum and dad have with their bed; it is all well and good getting a gift from the Kremlin of a four poster bed from the Russian Imperial Palace for all that stuff building steam powered spy bots or what ever it was, I’m not allowed to mention in the diary……..AH. But the thing is, beds made for the Russian royal family never had standard sized mattresses, so you can’t just nip down to Beds-R- Zzzzzz and say what’s the biggest mattresses you do.  The normal response is “King Size sir/madam” which is fine until you then mention the king was the last Emperor of Russia, Tsar Nicholas the second and he had a big bed, then they mumble and suggest IKEA.

We are waiting now, and I must go and make cardboard bits for an Alternative Olympian Robot Poet.

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