seventiesish

I'll have to get a moustache for my own door. This one looked most fetching, even if the droops do begin a little too early. I may perhaps try and find and retrieve an old brush from a skip somewhere in order to harvest the bristles, though if the brush is of the correct bristle-type and is worn more in the middle than at the edges in the usual manner then they'd form quite a moustachioid arrangement without requiring any removal from the brush-head, though the head might need to be painted the same colour as the door behind it to make it slightly less obvious that it's just a brush-head and not a real door-moustache. Unfortunately there is no letterbox on the main door on the street but sufficiently bushy moustaches are well known for their ability to conceal the lips behind them.

I think I might finally have convinced one of the prime disbelievers therein that Employee Single Instance Disorder is real and that not only do I occasionally suffer from it, so do they. Despite it being quite a gripey day (albeit one cloven in twain by two hours of NHS ante-natal stuff) the delay between the issue of unreasonable demands voiced in unpleasant tones and the shame-voiced half-apologies for them seems to be gradually lessening; asymptotes notwithstanding, one day the demands might not be made in the first place, at least not so demandingly and unreasonably.