Posts Tagged ‘credit crunch’

Foot ‘in’ Mouth is just as much a disease as Ebola, being Ginger or AIDS; it even sounds like a disease. There are other common characteristics prevalent across these three ailments, there is no cure, prognosis is never rosy and you can catch it from unprotected sex with monkeys (allegedly)

I can confirm I am a carrier of foot in mouth and have been so afflicted for many years, I don’t know if I caught it from having sex with a primate but the wife doesn’t have it so I don’t think so. Maybe I caught it from a public toilet seat; I really must get out of the habit of licking them.

Generally I can control the symptoms with judicious application of ‘shutting the fuck up’ although when I forget to take my tablets the repercussions can be severe. My wife pointed me to another herbal cure on the market ‘thinking before you speak’ but I just can’t seem to get on with it, all that happens if I take it is that I come out in hives and get migraines. Warning – sufferers of FiM should not drink alcohol, it only exaggerates symptoms and can lead to the far more serious ‘feet in mouth up to the knee’ syndrome.

In case you were wondering if you were a carrier let me describe several symptomatic incidents, it’s rather like Tourettes I suppose but generally without the pithy one liners and light hearted mockery.

Meeting a vague acquaintance from many years ago in the waiting room of the doctors, I was there to have a monkey bite treated. After striking up a ‘hi, how are you, long time no see’ conversation I congratulated her on her pregnancy and enquired as to how far gone she was and here is where my FiM kicked in, she wasn’t pregnant she was just very fat….. Not my fault really and I think she should have been blaming Mr Kipling not crying and shouting abuse at me!

FiM as many of you will know is technology savvy bug, take the following example which I have previously covered under another guise. I was chatting to Kenneth on our MSN style chat application. Instead of sending Kenneth a message saying ‘Gary(th) is a massive tool and is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot’ my illness made me send the message to Gary(th) instead. Cue much wailing and tearing of hair and that was just Kenneth laughing hysterically when I told him what had happened.

Many years ago calling a girlfriend by the wrong name, yep, I actually did it! Luckily we weren’t playing horizontal gymnastics at the time but we were in a restaurant enjoying dinner, well I say we were enjoying dinner but post FiM outbreak the mood at the table was more psycho than bistro. Word to the wise, either only date women with the same name or fall back on the old cockney pastime of calling everyone ‘love’

Having a not so young lady ask you for your honest opinion on a dress she was wearing at a soiree. Clearly a non FiM sufferer would have known the correct response to this would have been banal platitudes accompanied by much head nodding and arm patting not ’what Marquee did you steal that off?’ The only good news was that her husband managed to loudly snort champagne whilst laughing and I managed to exit stage left before she could turn her anger from him. Yes, I had been drinking and yes later in the evening I did end up in a ceremonial fish pond wearing nothing but a top hat.

I could go on with many more personal examples of how suffers of FiM are afflicted but I won’t. I will just leave you with this reminder – next time someone says or does something so embarrassing that you don’t know whether to laugh uncontrollably or bite through a major vein and end it all remember, it might not be there fault it might be FiM……on the other hand of course they might just be a massive twat.

By the way famous suffers of FiM include George Bush, Adolf Hitler, the other George Bush, most football commentators and that one eyed ex prime minister.

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We have a shop on site; I might have mentioned it before. Frankly it’s to customers what British Petroleum is to coastal conservation.

Ostensibly it is a hybrid of newsagent, coffee shop, dry cleaners and an undertaker, all rolled into one not very handy one stop shop for all your consumer needs, assuming you don’t need a bargain or anything vaguely good…

If you have a mental picture of a bustling corner style shop packed to the rafters with all manner of wondrous items then think again. It more resembles one of those pictures you see of shops in Russia – shelves empty apart from the odd lonely non descript tin of mystery meat and staff who look like they were trained by the KGB and are about as happy to see you as they would be an outbreak of cholera. I think most of them were extras in Shaun of the Dead and not only have they forgotten to have their ghoulish make up removed but they are always in character, impressive.

As per my last missive you’ll be aware that I currently have a heightened awareness for ludicrous posters on notice boards, and this week they seem to be multiplying quicker than Albanians at a free range goat farm. One of my new favourites is the ‘Meal Deal’ marketing that’s sprung up everywhere near the little shop of horrors. For the princely sum of £4.29 you can be the proud new owner of a soggy pre packed sandwich and some crisps – round that up to £4.99 and you can throw in an apple or an orange, since when is spending 70p on an apple any sort of deal! More to the point, guess how much the shop charge if you just fancied just purchasing one of your five a day, yep, its 70p.

Meal………Nutritionally debatable but I’ll concede the point

Deal ……..A Provincial town in Kent which is about as close as this laminated piece of fiction gets!

One of the other oddities of the place is that in these times of economic drought they do not like being busy, so much so that they had an email sent round to the whole battery farm sternly admonishing staff to stay away during busy periods. For those of you interested, their published busy periods apparently are from eight in the morning till one in the afternoon and then three in after afternoon till they close at six, effectively giving us 2 hours to buy stuff, the 2 hours during which they are either stock taking, sleeping, masturbating into the latte machine or a combination of the three. Word from the wise, stay away from the Latte, it tasks kinda peppery.

A McDonald’s style express queue has also been introduced to ‘enhance the consumer experience’ – their words not mine. The express queue by the way is the same as the old queue just with a new shiny sign above it. What I find ironic is that you actually have to wait longer because the lemmings from downstairs seem to think that even if the express till is more crowded than freebie night at the local knocking shop, it it’ll still be quicker that the empty one manned by the bored looking spotty kid at the back, it does say it’s faster after all so it must be…….. for the Love of God, find them a cliff, point the sign towards it and do the world a favour.

Speaking of the lemmings downstairs, nothing is more likely to send me into an apoplectic spiral of rage than some total dullard mincing around in front of me with a jury rigged tea-tray made from the lid of a cardboard box and an order for 15 drinks they are never possibly going to remember, all paid for separately of course. If you want a cup of tea get off your fat arse and go and get one, don’t send the office retard.

All in all I’d rather lube up and enter Mr T than have to shop there but it’s the only thing on offer and as we all know beggars can’t be choosers. Begging isn’t an option here since they off shored the bloke who used to sit by the car park entrance with his cute dog (the dog was not off shored – word is there is a very good reason the Korean cleaners bought up all the beef soup in the canteen that week) anyways, as I see it that only leaves one choice.

……and everyone knows it’s not gay if it’s with a member of the original A Team

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I am excited reader, something truly wonderful and ground breaking has occurred. No – I haven’t won the lottery, no Mrs Dilbert hasn’t developed a fondness for ‘that’ (chance would be a fine thing!) and no the cat has not been abducted by my new fan club and dressed in a tiny feline orange jump suit, worse luck.
Wondering aimlessly round my local Tescos yesterday lunchtime looking for pink moulded girls hand weights to use with a Divina MacCull fitness DVD (unfortunately true) I happened to notice that they have started stocking the holy grail of hot spicy food, the Dorset Naga Chilli.
For those of you not wise in the ways of the Chilli Pepper the Dorset Naga (not to be confused with the Dorset Nagger, my little pet name for Mrs D) is THE hottest chilli on the planet, this little bundle of love would make a South American Gaucho weep blood and run back to Mummy.
So then in homage and with the greatest respect, here are the top5 uses for a Dorset Naga, in the work place as compiled and tested by me, yesterday:

1) The Blind Taste Test
– You would be amazed at the amount of naïve souls here that as they walk past your desk and when you say ‘here eat this’ do just that…… they won’t be doing it again in a hurry though!

2) The Ambush
– My personal favourite, leave chilli spiked cakes or biscuits in plain view on your desk – it won’t be long until the fatty from down the office can’t help herself (I am fine with being this big, its who I am!) and tucks in without asking – queue screaming and a fast wobble to the toilets to splash her tubby face with water.

3) The Booby Trap
– Take a everyday common or garden office object and wipe liberally with chilli (I would recommend telephone headset boom mikes) for added effect replace the contents of the victims water bottle or cup with cheap vodka.

4) The Bum Bum
– Not the most hygienic but fun from a distance, simply wipe our fiery friend around the toilet seat rim, not the disabled though, that’s just cruel. For a Bum Bum / Ambush combo also coat the taps so when your victim rushes out to splash water on their smoking genitals they just add fuel to the fire.

5) The over the top
– Not much finesse here really, gaffer tape a chilli to a Scottish Broadsword and run amok in the office, add insult to injury of that severed arm with a mildly irritating sting.

Got any better uses for Chilli? let me know via the comments.

No pork products were used in the making of this public information bulletin.

Its been a while and for that I can only apologise, hatching dastardly plots to take over the world and avoiding the long arm of the thought police have been taking up the majority of my time and when I haven’t been plotting I’ve been potting (you should see my early crop new potatoes!)

Anyways, here I am , back by popular demand and raring to go so corporate cronies and the gingers amongst us be afraid, be very afraid.

We have a new gate at work it’s a work of art really, some might even go as far as to say its morale boozing in its majesty, and if morale boosting was ever needed its now. Petrol related suicides in the car park are up 43 % and its becoming increasingly impossible to wander over to the canteen without having to dodge the pin striped bombs of despair that come wailing from the heavens and are making an unholy mess of the carefully manicured walkways around the site. That being said every cloud has a silver lining and the crows and rats seem to be loving the economic downturn but be warned scavenging is not without its risks and more than one greedy opportunist (no, I am not referring to the HR department) has choked to death on a solid silver cufflink or a Hermes broach torn from still twitching middle management flesh

So then , back to our moral boosting new gothic style gates you can tell at first glance that a great deal of thought and attention to detail has gone into these, and as with bikinis less is more as any artist worth their salt can tell you. This minimalist functional celebration of all the values, beliefs and positive character traits that drive this business forward is a triumph and cannot fail to have the desired effect on the despondent masses who stream through its welcoming embrace every morning on their way to paradise.

In fact why don’t I just shut up and post a picture

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After lying low plotting their next dastardly attack the phantom poo’er has returned with a vengeance and judging by the ferocity with which the lavatories have been defaced I would wager, reinforcements! This week has seen a escalation in violence not seen since the coffee shop foolishly marked all its muffins half price and the fatties in accounting upon hearing the news started a stampede which left 3 muffins dead (all blue berry low calorie) and 14 missing, presumed consumed (all double chocolate) Rumour has it that the spotty work experience boy who tried to hold back the wobbly hordes was recovered from the recycling bin covered in jam and bite marks……he hasn’t spoken since.
Since my world exclusive expose things have been all quiet on the toilet front, attacks have been on the wane and harmony has been well on the way to being restored in the Pooniverse (sorry!) alas dear reader your poor intrepid lavatory guardian has been hoodwinked, lulled into a false sense of security and had the wool pulled well and truly over his eyes, all at the same time!
Not content with leaving his own brand of foul calling cards around the gents as previously reported the Phantom poo’er, has gone a step further and has sabotaged both urinals and three of the five traps available to my floor not only causing a massive back flow of turgid rusty water on top of which floats the odd pube crouton but has also caused the facilities maintenance associate (or whatever they call cleaners these days) to have a massive stress induced prolapse, word is that he and the spotty lad from the shop have been seen hiding in a skip round the back of the bike sheds (where the receptionists augment their income) sporting the kind of thousand yard stares seen on combat veterans and my sociopathic cat.
Those lacking moral fibre (although one could argue a lack of fibre could be a good thing under the circumstances) have been seen to be hoarding napkins and trying to con the pin code to the disabled toilet from the only bona fide user on our floor, who unfortunately has crumbled under the insidious barrage and has resorted to writing ‘fuck off I’m not sharing’ in lipstick on his forehead, attaching sharpened lever arch files to his wheels and barricaded himself in the stationary cupboard, those of us made of sterner stuff are waiting for his batteries to drain before retrieving him.
My optimism, as always is tempered with realism so I have ordered myself a chamber pot from our provisioning team under the guise of needing it for a client meeting, I am awaiting their response (it is bone china with a lovely embossed blue floral print) but in the mean time will continue to keep making the long, lonely and on occasion cloth touchingly perilous journey to the bog in reception. I may have lost the battle but I’ll win the war because now I’ve narrowed down the possible culprits, there are only two people on this floor capable of organising a clandestine operation on this scale and one of them is me, watch this space reader, watch this space……


Assuming you haven’t recently awoken from a coma or been living in a small crofters shack in deepest darkest Patagonia (Mexicans that sound Welsh, have you ever heard of anything so funny!) you will be aware of the demise of Lehman brothers and the shockwaves that have been sent though….well… no-one really….I mean aside from the poor staff (more about them in a minute) and the other big banks who they might or might not owe the odd fantasy electronic billion to who is really affected?
From the sensationalist slightly panicked news coverage you’d think that the world was about to end and this time next week its back to a feudal barter system and self sustainability (I’ve seen ‘the Good Life’, I’ll be fine!) or that maybe Lehman owned the clockwork mechanism that makes the earth keep turning and its about to judder to a halt, tipping us all over the edge into the vacuum of space?
The great unwashed ‘Daily Star’ reading populace don’t think for themselves, if they could they wouldn’t read that comic now would they! Thus when they are told something is bad, its bad, when they are told something is good , everything therefore becomes rosy, its Pavlovian theory at its best! Ask one of the aforementioned unwashed masses if the ‘credit crunch’ is affecting them they will answer unhesitatingly ‘yes’ ask them what it is and I almost guarantee the answer will consist of guttural grunts, teeth sucking and copious ‘innits’ before they admit defeat and shuffle off, sovereign rings dragging in the dust…. We are told the ‘credit crunch’ is the worst thing since Austrian cellar conversions but, as far as i can tell, its all about mortgage lenders doing what they should have done years ago and only lending sensibly, can it really be a bad thing that the days of the 100% eight times your salary mortgage is gone? Still doom and gloom sells more papers than cat rescued from tree stories (unless its Cat Deely in a cat suit….)
I think the thing that irks me most about the media coverage of this Lehman collapse is the portrayal of all the staff as Porsche driving, Surrey living, cut throat trader types who spend more than I earn in a year on a pair of socks, the type that has to have their payslip printing on A1 paper and all have a friend called Tarquin from school who plays Polo with Price Charles. I can understand why the general populace might want to crow at their misfortune, after all they deserve it don’t they, its not like they need the money, Daddy owns most of Belgravia and, never mind the spoon, they were born with a whole set of silver monogrammed cutlery in their mouth, and they talk like its still there.
The reality of the situation though is that the average employee will be no different to you or I, he’ll have a mortgage, he’ll worry about paying to take the family on holiday and right now his main worry is meeting next months bills…..there is the real loser in all this, Joe Average employee who worked where he did not to make millions (chance would be a fine thing!), not because he loves the cut and thrust of high finance but because its either convenient, pays slightly better than their previous job cleaning toilets or they made the role sound interesting and he was naive enough to believe them, I was!
I suppose the point of this little diatribe is twofold, firstly, try to think for yourself, you are not a lemming (if you were you would have launched yourself off Beechy head years ago and saved me a fortune in taxes!) and secondly not everyone that works in fiance or banking is mega rich, most of them are just like you and I. They want to cry on the way to the orifice on Monday mornings, they try to get out on time on Fridays and they fantasise about winning the lottery every day!

P.S. for those of you that don’t recognise the photo, its of Jens Lehman, not of Lehman brothers fame although just as adept at dropping the ball and a bit of a tit to boot……..he certainly won’t be found perusing the excellent fare on humor blogs