The Dark Hearted Soul Of the Average Office Drone

Our line manager got made redundant. We celebrated. It was wrong on too many levels to count, but somehow none of us could help it. Like spiteful school children, we quietly sneered, jeered and mocked amongst each other. I am not proud. That said, I won't miss his foul breath, arrogant offhand manner, contradictory bullshit and creepy wee shell-games. So, first day of summer or what? Today had that 'feel', that scent that says summer is just around the corner, with it's mandatory six days of nice weather and endless days of humid, damp misery. I feel better already! Unlike my old Grandpa. He's 94 you know!! He's also in hospital with a sore foot. They want to get antibiotics into him via a drip, then see how he does. Mum mentioned something about MRSA, which obviously raised an eyebrow on my part. If 'Iron Baws' Jimmy Morrison can contract that sort of thing, then nobody is safe.............. Tonight's visit was fairly entertaining though, just as long as you kept him off his usual conversational trajectory. He does a fairly good Private Fraser impersonation, and it's a constant battle to keep him from getting too bloody morose. Gentle mockery and a hearty dismissal of his ruminations seems to get the best out in him, as he realises you aren't going to wear an hour of his "The world is about to end!" chuntering. We also got his story about how the humble tomato saved him from the draft during the war. He grew them you see, and the government regarded them as an important part of the British diet. So important that the Jimster spent '39 to '45 fighting the jolly hun by providing ripe, juicy toms to the populace. I did point out that had he been conscripted and survived the war, it would have constituted a different reality and different circumstances. It was possible that neither myself or my brother would have been born and we wouldn't be having this particular conversation. My brothers girlfriend asked if Jimmy would still be in hospital with a sore foot on this alternate timeline. I concluded that yes, he would still be in hospital with a sore foot, but nobody would be there to visit him.................... New York Dolls - Trash Beautiful archive footage.............

Frankly, Mr Shankly

Posting in the wee hours. Wouldn't have it any other way........... As a child, I always responded well to late nights with the 'grown up's', listening to odd and apocryphal tales about strange family members. Time moves differently for a nine year old than it does for an adult, and eleven pm always seems like the dead of night. These days, an early night is half twelve, so such formative experiences have obviously served their purpose for this trainee hedonist. Of course, it's all Vic 20's, ZX 81's and Acorn Electron's these days.................The art of being bored senseless by ageing relatives seems to be all but gone............... I awoke this morning to find Police tape everywhere. It covered most of the back court, as well as the street in front of my flat. Even getting down towards Maryhill road was a chore, having to be directed by various officers of the law until I was clear of the area of forensic interest. Seemingly a man in his early forties had keeled over right outside my bedroom wall on Friday night. No suspicious circumstances it would seem, just common-or-garden natural mortal termination, the likes of which happens a thousand times a day. It's just that this guy did it 'alfresco', rather than lie rotting in his flat for six months, until the neighbours started to object to the smell. Since I'm of the belief that one of the finest things a human being can do is to die and make one's neighbours retch from the stench of one's putrifying corpse, I can't help feeling that this chap may have missed his chance. Still, he got the full 'men in white suits with camera's' treatment, so it wasn't all bad............... Talking of glib attitudes towards death............. Latest score from the Gaza Strip. Game off due to corpse strewn, blood soaked, crater riddled pitch. Match re-scheduled for sometime in the distant future, when the price of human life is regarded highly enough to print receipts. Then there's work. The human pustule I work under seems to go from strength to strength. As the department dwindles and the heart of the place dies in front of us, the little pissant charged with the daily running of our part of the office seems to become more and more virulent. A major lesson to us all in the dangers of allowing unctious, egregious, time serving little turds to hold control over anything or anyone. He reminds me of Major Major from Catch 22, but without the positive personality traits. We're talking about someone who tells you to bring any work problems to him, and then treats you like a mental retard when you do. His basic personality defect is that he breathes. I'm of the belief that he can't help it, that he's a seriously tedious, small minded, passive aggressive little arsehole who has no business being in charge of anything more important than the stationery order. My escape is almost complete. I shall not be denied. Ok, nothing more to see........... Go on, bugger off! ;)