I’ve come over to My Mum’s house in the middle of a bloody heat wave to volunteer to sleep in my old bedroom which is like Greenland in the Winter and like Death Valley in the summer (i’d forgotten how damn hot it is here in the top room). Windows are open, the 18 tog duvet is turned down and will shortly fall off the end of the bed onto the heat retaining deep pile carpet which presumably retains an awful lot of foot sweat from over the years too. I was always being told off for not wearing shoes and bringing my care free laisse faire attitude in doors when there’s plenty of important stuff to wear suits about. Turns out I was right and My folks were probably right too judging by the slightly salty smell of the carpet up here, that and the Athena style 80’s curtains, all retaining a whiff of lego and adolescence. And yet my suits remain largely unused… Think about that Bankers.

So by being here to help my Mum tomorrow with some admin and official visitor business I have elevated my self above my pay grade and refused to go to my group meeting in Wales, Cardiff (which I would have enjoyed to be honest with you, pints after and the privilege to listen to my new senior manager talk in Acronyms, Non Sequiturs and Vague Futurist Prophecies. This will happen, but first we need to do that and once the two pipettes align then suddenly we will be a world class organisation and lets be honest we could do without 20% of you being here; at this point the oldest all look around at each other in the room, do a quick calculation and throw their hats into the air realising that this may soon be the time for Redundancies… If only my company was as prolific with staff turnover in my side of the business as this government has been for the last 12 years then I’d be sipping a Pina Colada on a beach somewhere, probably Southport, but one can only dream. 

So Jobs for Mum tomorrow; official stuff with someone visiting requires empathetic umming and aaahing, then speaking to telephone company asking why the hell they are charging her so much anyway, she can’t fucking hear, then maybe speaking to the law as we’ve got guns which we need to shift (they’re legal GCHQ, don’t try hacking into me, I’m going to the police in a minute) Finally attacking the root of the creeper which has engulfed Mums gable end wall and ripped all the mortar from the bricks, I will beat this plant but its a slow process, there’s birds nesting, but i figure by the time the creeper dies, the chicks will be fully grown Leicestershire vultures by then.