The apathy has reached fever pitch

It's been kinda dull this week. Ruth's disappeared off to Cheshirestonshire for two weeks of learning about plants 'n' that; so I've been alone in the house, going through the tedious cycle of cook, eat, sleep, work, cook, eat, sleep, work...

And work has been pretty tedious too. Although at the start of the week I was kept pretty busy, with people to see and stuff to do and people that needed to see me about doing stuff, it tailed off midweek; and on Friday, I did nothing. NOTHING. I was vaguely assisted in this monumental achievement by the man that sits opposite me; I shall call this man Martin. Because that's his name.

Martin is a man in his late fifties. He has a moustache, and seems to do everything in slow motion. His belly is large. He likes old motorbikes, speaks with his mouth full, refers to women as "females", and puts one hand on his hip when he takes a whizz. Martin's slow and precise ways earn him little favour with the various contractors that come through our office, because it takes him three weeks to explain something that anyone else could explain in five minutes.

But it is precisely this trait that made it so easy for me to waste an entire day. I asked Martin a simple question;

"Who was that guy?"

Martin stares at me for a bit whilst he tries to process the words that have just come out of my mouth.

Cranial glaciers start to shift.

Martin speaks.

"Which guy?"

Sigh.

"The guy, that was just here, that was just talking to me, that just left the office, that I gestured towards when I asked 'who was that guy'. That guy."

"Oh, that guy. That's..."

Martin goes on to tell me the guy's name, and then gives me his life story; how he worked in Japan for ten years because he didn't want to work for a particular plant manager, how said plant manager had ruined the plant engineering department, how the guy left his wife for some female he met in Japan, and how some other guy in our office is a complete ornithophobe and once, driven by sheer terror, swatted a friends budgie out of the air with his bare hands, killing it instantly.

I'm still not sure how we got onto that last one.

The important thing is, I got to spend the best part of an afternoon listening to Martin waffle aimlessly; which almost - but not quite - looked entirely unlike I was doing nothing.

Meanwhile, I've been feeling a bit out-geeked of late; so here's some toy soldiers.

This ultimate baddass is the Doombull that leads my Beastmans to countless glorious victories. Well, he will do, just as soon as I start winning some games of Warhammer.

I never got around to naming him, since I tend to be too busy ranting about the mighty Black Maul he wields. And oh, how mighty and black it is...

FEAR HIS GREAT BLACK MAUL

Despite being an ultimate badass in his own right, the Doombull tends to hang out with a small gathering of lesser badasses, who act as witnesses to the list of abhorrent crimes perpetrated by him and his Black Maul.

BLACK MAUL!!!

Expect more pictures of my Beastmans over the next few weeks, because taking pictures is easier/less boring than typing.