FOWC: Kneel

You know when you’ve had about enough of your employers?

When the pay rise you’re given is the price of a cup of coffee (after tax) for every working day during the year. When I find this out at 9pm any night when I’ve been slaving over a particularly large important job, so I can complete it before I go away for the weekend, so that no one else has any issues going forward and they buy me a fucking cup of coffee.

Well, enough is enough, “I’m getting my tackle out to see what bites” to coin a phrase used by the Eccles philosopher Paul Calf. Thus far this evening I’ve applied for two jobs, one in NZ and one in Australia. I’ve come to the slightly bothering conclusion that I need a warm climate to heal my aching bones; one night asleep on a sofa has killed my hips and 90 minutes on the astroturf with another dad and 4 kids has well and truly laid me out. I cannot kneel for fear of hurting my thighs. I will move to the Antipodes and taste the Eucalyptus infused waters.

Let alone what the hell is going on in British politics at the moment, I really do not understand how 2 people so out of touch with the British zeitgeist can possibly be elected the next Prime Minister by the blue rinse brigade, the card carrying Tory Party membership. My Mum and Dad will have a vote, my Mum’s views on immigration can be called at best, “absolutely insane”. How can this be, our country is going to the dogs. Mum thinks Boris is “a funny chap” meaning he’s a great laugh.

I’m not laughing, and he’s trying to pretend he likes Trump . God help us all. Maybe this photo of a little mushroom might provide a little magic to hallucinate through the next 2 years until this stuff and nonsense is put to bed. Thinking about it maybe we have been hallucinating for the last 2 years anyway; they’re dumping LCD in the water folks, dive in  its all squishy.