K8 the GR8

We had a total kick in the nuts, today, careerwise.

We’ve been planning to operate a taxi business between the two of us, using our wheelchair-adapted family car.  There are sod all wheelchair accessible taxis out there in Wicklow, so we would be in high demand - excellent!  Also because there is such a need for these taxis, the gub’ment makes buying disabled taxi plates very very cheap and easy.  We paid €270-something for the hardware, instead of the €6,500 a regular taxi driver would have to pay for his bumphf.  Nice.

Nice except for that devil in those details…

Nobody told us we’d need to supply a wheelchair entrance and a seperate exit from the car!  How bloody big would one’s car have to be?  Everything else is tickety-boo, other than this tiny point.  I almost took a tin-opener to the roof of the darn vehicle I was that pissed off.

Now we have to apply for a refund, sacrifice 50 squids for administration costs, then fork out the original six and a half grand!!!  Sod that for a game of soldiers.  We will just have to go Hackney until we earn that sort of cash.  I hate Hackney.  It’s so limited.

*bah*

I would have lost all faith in today if it weren’t for my chimney cleaning endeavours.  Yep!  I can add soot clearage to my C.V. now.  I didn’t recarpet the sittingroom with creosote, didn’t snap the brush half way up, didn’t even get my jeans dirty!!!  I’m so glad I watched Dad do this dirty deed so many years ago.  I think it’s thanks to him that my skills are so versatile.  It’s a talented person that can both re-wire a television and knit an aran cardigan without being branded a big Jessie.  Not that I’d ever try and re-wire a television set, but I could sure as hell knit one…