If anyone of you lot can give me another example of the shittest May on record due to a pandemic and atrocious weather, I’ll let you buy me a pint. This weekend i’ll be in Worcester on a Gin making course, but maybe on Sunday I’ll pop up to the lion. Just pop a pint in for me, instead of the Count of North Clifton or the minister of Shrawley walks, I go by the name “Man with Dog” until I told them my real name which is obviously Escuperious, but Man with Dog is a pretty accurate moniker and not at all lackadaisical on their part being obviously far too busy to ask my name.
A bad month it has been, work has been shocking, we’ve been put in danger during this pandemic rather graciously by our overlords, beaten all the targets they threw at us in the face of adversity. Not at all on a par with our wonderful NHS, but all the same, targets were made and smashed, and yet no cigar, despite the company intranet telling us there would be a crock of gold at the end of the rainbow, turns out more like a crock of shit and not so much as a antimacassar to rest on the head rest of our favourite armchairs to absorb the wet Hereford air from my damp head. There must be some sort of snafu I thought to myself, surely business can not be this shallow and brazen as to treat its staff, like something they find on the bottom of their shoe? But oh yes reader, this is how it is, in this brave new world where giving a job to your mate and filling the board of directors up with friends of friends and people with who you schooled with and that one person who you went to a swinging party with once; well they were probably drunk and have regretted it ever since, what were you thinking? This it seems is how things work, theres a ready made experienced institutionalised slave workforce, churning out the widgets naively in the hope of a reward or for the more experienced; just for a quiet life. It sucks that a company I actually had an ounce of respect for has gone from that to this in half a decade, and a fifth of that we’ve been in a pandemic for christ sakes.
So don’t tell me that things will get better, because the way May has played its cards has gut punched even the hardiest of optimists (of which I include my self to be one). Come on sun, stop the rain and lets hope the board all drop their laptops in a river, can’t remember their passwords and get paid in Jim’ll fix it badges and Rolf Harris Paintings. Then they can swap amongst themselves while the rest of us get on with the fun business.