I have no idea how I got here, but…

 

 

I am trying to find clips or episodes of the 1970s or 1980s children’s TV programme, Watch. Somehow I wandered off-piste and found this. I do love Mariella’s voice though, she’s husky.

 

 

 

It’s…the 70s!

If you skip to 2:00 there’s a guy with a big green X on his front beside a shitty robot. He worked with other robots in the 70s – can you name the role for which he was most famous?

 

 

 

Meanwhile, back in the 80s…

 

 

 

So long and thanks for all the fish.

 

 

There are days when I think that it’s all just a huge waste of my time. Sometimes, however, I have bad days when I question my time’s validity. I have, of late, been erring toward the latter.

 

Some weeks ago, I believe it may be nine or so, I asked for a meeting to discuss my career path with my current employers. Now, all of these weeks later, I have withdrawn my interest in this enquiry as I have not been furnished with any sort of response at all. Now, had this been a routine assessment of my progress after, for example, the initial twelve months of employment, I’d have little cause for complaint (although it would still be a less than stellar attempt from them at being organised.) This is not the case though. After 12½ years of working for them I had, for some unfathomable reason, expected to be treated with slightly less contempt than this.[1]

 

Fortunately, and I say this with some trepidation, all is not lost. My good friend and manager (of sorts), Keith, has gone out of his way to expand his role in the company to benefit me by assuming the position of public address system.[2] [3] So, without further ado, there is nothing more to say on the subject. Well, that’s his assessment of the current state of play anyway, mine involves going into the office to do my bits and bobs long after everybody else has left for the evening and taking this time in lieu either at the beginning or end of the normal working day. Anyway, all that Keith wants (other than another baby, she’s gone tomorrow) is for everyone to, and I quote, “Come in, get on with their work and have a laugh.” He has been left under no illusion that I will not be laughing until a) I have finished typing my letter of resignation or b) I need wellies to stop my feet from getting wet as I leave the building via the blood-soaked carpets littered with their still-warm carcasses. As I pointed out to him, I am not contractually obliged to “have a laugh” so he can get fucked (or hacked to death, his choice.)

 

All joking aside though,[4] and this is becoming something to rival Alan Partridge’s novel “I, Partridge: We Need To Talk About Alan” in terms of excessive use of the footnote function in Word,[5] it’s time for me to move to pastures new because, as Matt so eloquently put it, they can only take the piss out of me for so long. You see, I am on a level-pegging or better when it comes to wielding a screwdriver and fault-finding on the hardware side, but there are things that I can do on the software, networking and solutions that they can’t even spell. That said, their spelling is truly dreadful but this should not detract from my point. Add to this the fact that I can speak three languages, four if you count Geordie, I can memorise numbers, times, dates and sequences, I can exist on very little sleep, particularly in a job that doesn’t really necessitate me being awake, and I have recently given up smoking and therefore have a dreadfully short temper, and you have the ingredients for a truly awesome Bond baddie. Either that or I’m ready to reshoot Good Will Hunting as a fly-on-the-wall documentary, because we need more of that sort of televisual feast. We need more so-called “reality TV” too.

 

So what to do? Well, my head tells me to change industries and career paths (Ha!) entirely, whereas my heart tells me to rape them blind by taking as much business as possible elsewhere. Once again, an excellent Bond baddie. Many’s the hour I spend playing out various schemes in my head when I’m working on a machine, coming up with ways to hit them where they feel it the most, in their pockets. Unlike them I plan a longer game, with many blows raining down at once yet all with their own minor devastation. I think of their schemes that my 12½ years have made me privy to, the network access that my solutions role has necessitated, the sensitive information that I can copy unchecked and, suddenly, employing Paul Maddison seems like an even more foolish thing to do than everybody already knows it to be. You see, getting rid of that unadulterated fucktard[6] and paying me a proportion of his salary would have served two purposes: firstly, things wouldn’t be damaged / broken / smashed / fucked up as often as they are now and secondly I wouldn’t be looking to leave and fuck them up with considerable malice aforethought.

 

So, if you’re looking to employ a vindictive bastard who reacts with extreme prejudice to being treated with contempt by his employers, please do get in touch. I’m thinking Al-Qaeda, Spectre, the royal family…



[1] Silly fucking me.

[2] I recognise the irony of levelling this accusation in the public domain of this ‘ere blog type thing, but I don’t really give a rat’s ass, tiny or otherwise.

[3] “Public” is a tad unjustified, he just told Shaun. Who then told Steve. And Rob. And probably Sue too. The massive cunt.

[4] There is none, I’m not “having a laugh.”

[5] The format of which being less impressive once I’ve put it on here, I have to say.

[6] I do love the word “fucktard” so, it manages to convey my utter contempt for just about anything with so little effort.

 

 

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