During a very important week for me at work, as every week tends not to be, if you know me, the feelings of relief when I’m done will, I’m sure, be tarnished with feelings of a certain regret. A what if… if you will…or will it? Who knows. It’s easy being naturally able to work at the speed I do, with no one on my back. With a smaller less demanding workload than some. the trick is to keep busy or at least looking so, theres very few places to hide these days and I wouldn’t ever admit to hiding, because I don’t. Shit, I don’t know, this whole job feels like a trip, like a deep dive into a company powered by some sort of ridiculous Shamen run on magic mushrooms, and the staff barely realise, let alone speak up. It ain’t what it used to be and make no mistake, but my focus is mainly on trying to piece together the whereabouts of my smock and sunglasses from last weekend’s DJ rave up, rather than the operating system shutdown this Weekend, Thursday meeting, Friday don’t work at all because anything you do could… be lost in the ether, such is the robustness of the system, and as each month goes by, with bolt ons and add ons being stuck on and stuffed into the sock of our operating system, so the maintenance of headway slows a little further. One day it’ll all come grinding to a halt I’m sure, and the milk will turn sour.

The reason for the importance of the week was due to the noting of a time in service of and a muted celebration of a colleague who has done what I’ve been doing for 25 years for about 20 years longer than I have. Yep, nearly 45 years. In one company; trapped and Hostage, unable to escape due to the Corporate Stockholm syndrome experienced by anyone here for over 20 years. Our tyrannical kings; we like cockle pickers unto the mudflats we cannot leave; our gang masters willing us on, for no extra money but an empty promise that soon we will all reap the benefits of the future strategy, the harvests will yield a bounty and the Autumnal  equinox will provide some sort of magic fucking beans. This Thursday, I provided, not content to wait for our paymasters, and we all feasted a plenty on The Count’s superb Chocolate Brownies.

This is of course utter bullshit, I’ve realised this a long time ago, but am trapped; unable to escape. But was comforted to see, in a close by pub, whilst on an early afternoon “business critical” errand, that Nitrous Oxide is becoming a lunchtime pursuit. Not by me, I must add, but Fucking hell people, are we not Doomed?