Yeh this is our corner, last night. Looks like work to me.
Oh yeh we have all been guilty of those little adult white lies when asked 'Does my arse look big in this?' 'How does the dinner that I have taken 3 days to cook taste? Is it OK?' 'Who was that that just let one off?'
Yeh we all muddle the truth from time to time and at least with me if I do then it's to be a bit kind. 'Oh you haven't changed a bit.' 'This dinner is delightful, I would never have thought of making a dog turd and pebble pizza - very creative.'
But I am a bad liar. I have mentioned this before. I am mostly a bad liar cos I have no capacity to remember the lies and so apart from the fact the my face goes beetroot red, the next thing that falls out of my mouth nearly always makes a mockery of the lie, so I am always caught out and that shit feeling is something that I try very hard to avoid.
Perhaps because I am such a shit teller of porkies, I just do not EXPECT folk to lie, nah, I EXPECT people to tell the truth, and I expect truths especially if I am reading shit in a flier with a Government Logo - call me naive, call me stupid, but don't call me at night cos I can't hear the phone cos of the fucking noise going on outside.
Yesterday I got an email from the Department of Transport outlining this week's road work. It arrived at 12.07pm.
I was relieved that there were NO NIGHTWORKS planned for outside our place, Yippee. Yippee Yippee. Sure there was work planned for further up the road but selfishly I realised that that wasn't going to impact here.
In any case my relief was as short lived as a person doused in petrol waving a lighted candle.
At about 7pm, a police car parked up strobing its lights and an avalanche of hostile people and huge machines arrived to create a raucous.
I nearly cried.
It is just not possible that between noon and 7 there can have been such a radical change of plan, not least because, in theory, every time there is a road closure, permits need to be applied for and granted by the police. And planning and staffing and scheduling all those fucking machines and bitumen deliveries just don't happen at a moment's notice.
The merry-go-round is playing at full speed ahead and ear bleeding volume.
The lies are being rolled out by Georgiou and TMR, and I now just want to be relocated. There is provision for people adversely effected by the noise to be housed elsewhere but I've been told there is no money for that, only by the bottom of the totem pole gal cos that's as far as I've been permitted to climb today. I don't know what sort of footwear would be required to climb that greasy pole any further, but I know I haven't got anything even close to useful enough.
What stops TMR telling the truth?
Why do TMR have to consistently lie and evade and avoid?
Why is it that dealing with TMR is like wading through a shit mire, when as a Public Body, their activities aught to be completely transparent?
This has been going on for 18 months. No wonder I am weeping.