We have a mostly blocked drain. It's at the stage of spewing out water when we shower, or when we wash up, or wash clothes - you get the idea. I called Dynarod this morning in an attempt to get it fixed and did some work at home while waiting for his arrival. It turns out that whoever built the utility area in our house got a bit carried away with concrete, and there's not a lot the drain man can do until we remove the concrete from around the drain. funnily enough, we're a bit short on pneumatic drilling equipment, so it looks like we'll be entertaining ourselves with hammer and chisel this evening.
So, unable to clear the blocked drain and unable to connect to the internet (blasted phone line has been dodgy ever since the strong winds of a few weeks ago), I decide to come in to work. I make it to Becketts Farm roundabout before the oil light comes on. Now I must point out that this is not my car, it is my husbands car. I was kind enough to lend him Xena (Puma Black 1.7) for the day, so I have to make to do with Trinity (Ka, 1.3, no oil). So, after stopping and filling up with oil, I resume my trek into work. I'm not sure where planes come into this story - perhaps that was just my subconcious telling me I need to go on holiday.
[Listening to: Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own - U2 - How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb [Bonus Track] (05:09)]