Albino Burns Victim

The Easter egg lies to one side, ignored. The last stubborn gesture of a doomed man. Under his tenure, the department was cut off, not just by time and space, but by a belligerent autonomy that that led to it's current isolation. Nothing worked, least of all us. This was where you ended up if you annoyed someone or fucked something up. This was the Dead Letter Office. We hadn't received Easter eggs from the company for a few years. No big deal, just a box of cheap chocolate, but it told you everything you needed to know. We were the Damned United. The wee man though, he won't be suckered with this tawdry gift. The gaudy carboard box sits on his desk and gathers dust. A bit like he did, truth be told...... He's letting us all know what he thinks of the company who gave him the boot, as he winds down his last few days before finding himself a job more suitable to his talents. Like a shelf stacker. Or a toilet attendant. Who'd have thought he was once one of Sir Fred's little devil spawn? I tell you this though, I envy him. Next month he'll be at home watching Jeremy Kyle, Bargain Hunt and Fuck Truck Vol IIV while I grind through spreadsheets and write letters to the sort of wankers who remortgage seven times a year. What's fair about that? Brough Park, Newcastle Easter Monday is usually a hellish drag of a day. It's like a 2nd Sunday, except without the speedway. That's why this year I accepted the offer of Ashfield aquaintance Paulco and took a berth on the Glasgow supporters bus down to the north east of England to watch the Tigers take on Newcastle Diamonds. Glad I did. The journey down went by in a flash, as did the return, due mainly to good company and constant banter. Brough Park, being a night track based at a greyhound stadium, is a very different prospect to Ashfield. On the up-side there's no dust and the floodlighting provides a great atmosphere. The hospitality and facilities are also top notch and on the night we visited, they had sorted the track to provide maximum entertainment. The rubbish elements included limited viewing (only the home straight, about thirty feet from the track), and the sense that photography is a bit of a no-no (I could be wrong on that though) Anyway, a great night out and better than spending the day sleeping and watching fucking Bond flims and religious epics.