Margaret and the MoG

We've been MoG'd at work! For those who don't work in the public sector, I'll explain a little: MoG or 'machinery of government' is when a group of civil servants have to tranfer to an other government department or 'OGD' because a Minister in an OGD takes responsibility for it. Therefore it's a case of 'move' or 'resign' so it's a fait accompli really. Once we move building I've worked out that I'll save £10 in shoe wear and tear per annum but will probably put on 2lb in weight with the reduced need for walking.

Father's in a strange mood this fine Sunday. I noted from the history on the desktop computer that he's been visiting 'earthworm appreciation sites' which is very odd. Strange packages keep arriving for him which are taken into the shed and disposed of very quickly.

Mr A's memorial service will take place next Friday morning.

Margaret on Sunday

A normal Sunday chez Weaver you'd think, but you'd be wrong. Life is so much more complex than you'd ever imagine sometimes and perhaps I'm imagining it but the house does seem to be sinking somewhat - I'll have to draw a 'plimsoll' line around the back wall and find out for myself at some point.

Emma's still paranoid about Connor, we've one of his gigs next week to contend with. The man's self-obessed, boring and gets my back up but at least she has a love life, I fear I threw caution to the wind, knickers to the tsunami and common sense to the mistral when I embarked on my flingette with Mr A which in turn ruined my romance with the wonderful Wilf to die a huge death (a little like the former gentleman in question.)

There was a lovely turtleneck jumper in the colour supplement this morning and what's even better, it was available in seven eye-catching colours, therefore I think I'll dust off my credit card and purchase it. I have my knitted 'costume' to wear to Mr A's memorial service next month, Mother flatly refuses to call a ladies' matching two-piece a 'suit' because as we all know, that garment is exclusively reserved for chaps.

Mr A's eulogy

I received an email today from Marcus Durbridge, a former friend of Mr A's and a senior civil servant in the Department for Important Paintings (DIP). I met Marcus on a couple of occasions and thought him a little too stuck up and superior for my liking, however he and Mr A shared a love of the Coen Brother Films and speciality ciders, so each to their own.

He sent me a draft of the eulogy he's written for next month's memorial service, it goes something like this. I'm not really sure it's really suitable, but see what you think.....

"I met Giles Henry Arbuthnot back in 1992 when we were both appointed to the civil service faststream as HEO(D)s. Giles struck me with his wit and intelligence straight away and although he wasn't particularly popular with his certain colleagues because of his sarcasm and lassez faire attitude, I was able to see through this to the true potential beneath. Giles held a series of posts, both home and abroad and throughout was able to surround himself with able staff who managed to foster a great number of impressive achievements, which reflected well on him. He was therefore one of the youngest faststreamers to be promoted to Grade 7.

Giles's later years were rather cloaked in mystery. Ostensibly he maintained a good work/life balance and enjoyed cultural events as well as becoming a rather splendid poet of his own accord. His love life was varied and it was always his intention to marry a middle class girl whom his mother would approve of. This of course, was tempered by his appetite for the seedier side of life which shouldn't really be discussed in the present company.

I sincerely hope he finds the fulfillment he so yearned for in death and if this turns out to be one of his illusions, and conversely turns up in London again sporting a beard - Giles, you owe me a pint!"

I could be so good for you...

Emma visited last night and we had a girlie night in putting the world to rights. She was complaining about her boyfriend Connor who has recently formed a Dennis Waterman and Kenny tribute band and dyed his hair a strange hue of ginger as a result. Emma is (quite rightly) worried about the female adulation this will undoubtedly bring as he's been booked for a slot at the coveted 'Sauf London Wide Boy Music Festival' at this local dive called 'The Coach and Horses' where, I'm told they berate people for dancing. Emma's concerned that one of the regulars will take a shine to Connor and dress up as Rula Lenska to try and steal him away from her; she's donning an Amanda Redman style wig as I type.

Otherwise, I received a letter this morning which informed me that there's to be a memorial service for Mr A next month in his home village of Greater Parva Minor. Due to new EU regulations people are declared dead within 100 days of disappeaprance, which is a great deal less than the previous 7 years. Cuts!