So I'm on the top deck of the 43, listening to Led Zep on my ipod, whacked up to drown out lads on the back seats behind me, texting my mate. It's 6.30pm. I started work at 8am this morning. Apart from a wee bit of blogging over lunch when the email system went down I'd been hammering away at that desk all day. Left sometime after 5pm.

"God I'm sleepy," I text.
"You work too hard," he says.

He's right. I know he's right. I will work and work and work like trojan and then, when I've had something to eat... I'll work some more. What is wrong with me? If someone doesn't kill off my work ethic soon, or i get it removed or something, I am going the way of Ginger in Black Beauty, I just know it. *"Neigh lass", cried the chorus.*

Not like my colleague Bill *not that he's actually called Bill and God knows he's too laid back to care what I say about him, but I do feel some moral responsibility towards victims of my derision*.

Another colleague phoned me today to say 'Would you believe Bill was 61? He is he showed me his bus pass today.'
Deana: I would believe you if you said he was 70. That man has done jack s**t for the past 25 years, why would he look any older?'

Of course while I am paralytic with jealousy Bill is usually to be found in the pub. I called him once on his mobile about a work thing. It was 3.30pm. Two minutes into the conversation I recognise the background noise.
Deana: 'You're in the pub, aren't you?'
Bill: 'Err... yes I am, are you here too?'
Deana: 'No I'm not Bill, but I used to work in one - I recognise the background noise.'

I was on the train with another colleague, Andy, the other week, discussing illnesses.
Andy: 'Oh yes and Bill's had tennis elbow.'
Deana: 'Tennis elbow. Like from playing tennis?'
Andy: 'Oh he doesn't play tennis.'
Deana: 'From lifting a pint pot you mean?'
Andy: 'I dunno... Probably.'
Deana: 'Ah, Tennent's Elbow.'

Seriously though, I admire Bill. He's always happy. He walks like a teenage boy from 1973. He's got a beautiful daughter who clearly thinks he's fantastic. I can see he would be uber cool dad. The fact he earns way more money than me is not annoying me in the slightest *grinds teeth, growls under breath*

Why do some of us have this graft gene and others not? It's not bloody fair. If Bill can coast through life then why can't I? Yes, I know it's a patriarchal society and 'yes' I'm beginning to think great sections of it are propped up by women - god, please don't let that be the answer...

Though tonight no dissertationing. I'm having a bath, jarmies on and I'm Torchwooding it. And tomorrow evening I'm going out so... see ya!