Four Hours. Four hours spent writing a long and lengthy list. Laboriously checking and cross checking figures, arranging numbers in boxes and writing salient back covering words, should I ever need to bail myself out of the shit. four hours of life I will never recover. Four hours of missed Gold Rush Alaska episodes or looking at tattoo designs of whimsical 60's psychedelia with a shoe horned in Bob Dylan quote, possibly in bubble writing. In order to tender for work that I’m 99.9% sure will be dismissed out of hand as too expensive. Because I’m unable to provide the moon on a stick. What’s irking your irkspot tonight?