Goat Attack (this post contains no goats)

We’ve all had a fantastic weekend, a sumptuous and pricey meal in a restaurant in the middle of nowhere (google the Green Cow, go there, you can buy me a pint), its a ton per person but worth it, not to mention our fabulous friends from both the kingdom of Wuss and the outlying provinces of Welsh Wales, Manchester; a nod of recognition. But our Antipidean friends from NZ, which is pretty much opposite us if we drilled through the Earth’s crust, mantle and core which would be tricky from here as we’ve got clay soil, hard and alkali (apparently Dr S) I tried drilling into the ground to position a sleeper and whilst ultimately successful I’d say the plans had to change. So, as is customary in these situations we peppered ourselves with the possibility of Covid who like an old cardigan or a poor copy of No Parlez, keeps reappearing, but lets not muddy the waters, they’re already full of sewage (see Tory policy regards chucking shit into the rivers, and would you believe our MP voted to do so, and she lives in the Teme valley. Sometimes on a weekend you can spot her in a satin leotard running round her garden splattering her and her husband’s faeces towards the river, in the winter she fills plastic bags full of the stuff, slings it up over the river, and Hubby shoots the crap out of it with his 12 Bore, a shit show (literally) she’s called Harriett Baldwin, if you’d like to know. But she’s a vacant MP in a terminally (literally) Blue seat and so could throw her own shit at her voters and they’d still ask for more.

Today I worked in my mates location as he’s away, covering for 2 weeks, and its always a nightmare. Not just covering for him, but also trying to explain what I do without telling what I do, I could get lynched. But waiting for me, when I got back from Lydney (miles away), was an email informing me how little of a pay rise I will be getting and in fact how much of a real time pay cut I will be receiving, despite being tangled up in the government pay freeze. So contrary to sensible, rational and ethical thinking, my company (who I am swiftly falling out with) have taken the unusual steps of showing us a shit stained mattress and telling us that this is to be our bed for the next year or so. Its a tactic I haven’t seen before, and I’m unsure as to how its meant to motivate me to give a shit, in the years going forward. My boss, JJ, a new one, a nice bloke and previously one of us, the folk who are penalised for not wanting to be a manager, involving snitching, avoidance and lying with a sprinkle of Bullshit, anyway JJ told us at a meeting yesterday that he wanted to give a Box 2 mark to most of his group as they’ve done well. His manager, Aaron (who i’ll name because he’s a cunt), told him that there isn’t the money for that many good marks, and the bell curve of performance must be adhered to. Well thats my motivation gone, and I wait with baited breath to see what bullshit comes out fo my new manager’s gob, to not answer any question I ask of them.

Remember folks, if you’re setting up a government agency, company, whatever, always keep your staff in the dark, never tell them what they’re pay rise is until its the summer holidays when it will be paid into your bank and back dated so its just there in time to pay for the holiday cocktails. And lastly, never even think of empathising with the staff or offering any context as to the decisions made, because, well fuck em, they like donning what they’re doing and they’re too old to leave, too institutionalised to leave! 

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