I have no idea what I’m doing, and I’m really quite ham-fisted when it comes to technology. It’s taken me bloody hours so far this morning to work out how to actually write a substack thingy. Apparently you can’t do it on the actual app, unless I wasn’t clicking the mouse properly. I’ll give it a go.
Apart from a Samsung tablet to sign jobs off, take pictures and send/receive emails, I don’t use tech at work unless you count battery-powered long reach hedge cutters. Which I do, because they haven’t got an engine.
I had a folder full of jottings, notes and scribblings about when I worked on the bins during the lockdowns, but it was thrown out at some stage during our house move last year. I can recall most of the odd things and weirdness but don’t have a timeline anymore.
All the photos I took accidentally went into the back of a bin wagon along with my phone during the middle of a big argument with some Slovakians when we wouldn’t take the equivalent of a large skip-worth of side waste that was mostly furniture and car parts.
All I had was hand-me-down crappy phones and a crappy tablet for ages but I’ve got a Chromebook now, so I’ve decided to start writing again.
I’m trying to write a story about St Cuthbert when he was a young lad in the Northumbrian army. It keeps going a bit weird. If I finish it I’ll send it to Aurochs to have a look at it first. It started turning into a really shit version of The Witcher the other week.
Doing a manual job I have a lot of time to daydream, especially if I’m on the mowers or they send me out spraying. I usually have a good time being in my brain so I sometimes get a bit irritated when people expect social interaction from me.