Yes, I've Used That Title Before
Probably not for a year, though, so you'd have long forgotten about it, or would have done if I'd not just reminded you. You see how thoroughly honest I am? Enough waffle, on with the Intro.
Yesterday was the day of our Staff Bonus Event, where our employer had given £25 to everyone in the company to spend on an event*. Manal, our official Party Liaison, had selected Banyan in the beating heart of Gomorrah-in-the-Irwell. Art!
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| Note a distinct lack of banyan trees |
Extremely convenient for Conrad, because it was a mere hop and skip from the Exchange Square tram stop, except to keep my dignity I only walked.
Manal had ordered food for 20 people, and since there were only 14 of us - let me show you the spread. Art!
Plus three plates of chips.
Even an acknowledged glutton like Conrad had trouble doing justice to this lot, so the venue thoughtfully provided us with take-away paper bags and foil trays, one of which is gracing The Mansion's fridge as I speak.
Now I know it's a touch crass to show pictures of people enjoying themselves when you're not - you're probably sitting nursing a hangover with a glass of fizzy aspirin and a black coffee, you reprobate! - but once again, whose blog is it? Art!
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| Manal is facing the camera in the green dress |
We also had a series of mock awards that people had voted for. I wasn't fast enough to get them all in - Art!
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| "Banter-Claus" |
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| "Snack Queens" |
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| "Couple of the Year" (Known informally as The Chuckle Brothers) |
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| "Most Valuable Player" (Entirely true) |
There was another award: "Lady Gaga; Most Likely To Push The Clothing Boundary" which was pretty unanimously won by Josh, the human peacock, except he wasn't there to accept it. Monday morning in the office, promised Manal**.
It was a well-oiled affair, too, since the buffet had come to only £17 per person, leaving 40 drinks tokens to distribute amongst the crew, which given city centre prices was most welcome.
Perhaps best of all, it only took me 75 minutes to get home with no resort to taxi or Uber, meaning a win-win all round.
Motley! Get that take-away bag out of the fridge and micro-wave it!
Back To Our Scheduled Program
Excuse me whilst I nip into the bathroom to scrape the bristles, Conrad will be off in a while to collect Darling Daughter because it is apparently Father's Day today, and her house is in a bit of a state thanks to moving, so she's coming here. Thus I need to look as un-villainous as possible.
<short pause>
There! As beautified as artifice can make me <which is not very much - the Horrid Truth courtesy Mister Hand!>.
Okay, so I think we're nearing the end of our co-opting the BBC's "On The Water" themed exhibition of photographs. Let me check. Art!
Courtesy Adam Berry
There were a couple of boring ones so I've gone for this. The photographer explained that this was taken free-diving - that is, without tanked oxygen - and you get an impression of how deep he was thanks to the scuba divers. If you look closely at the rock towards centre starboard you'll see his free-diving buddy sitting on a rock. All done on a single breath. Yes yes yes, more 'in' the water than on it if you want to split hairs. Still an impressive photo.
I may do both the boring ones together, and that'll end the exhibition.
Lunch-Thief Grief
Of all the unacceptable office behaviours, perhaps none is as low as the Dog Buns! lunch thief, who deliberately steals other people's lunches because they're too lazy or cheap to either make or buy their own.
Enter our tale of Reddit revenge. Original Poster's brother Rick used to work in a call centre, one that seems to have had a decent attitude towards staff. The problem was, no camera in the break room, where the staff fridge lived, and from which Rick's lunches would get stolen every time he took one in. Art!
A fridge. Just so we're clear.
Rick complained to his boss, Don, and the HR lady, Dolly, every time it happened, and was fobbed off with various excuses reasons why nothing could be done.
Well, after the latest theft OP decided to make a roast beef baguette lunch for Rick, except they added forty drops of this - Art!
And they made sure it soaked into the meat and mayo and bread.
This stuff, for those unaware, is made of pure capsaicin, the stuff that gives chillies their hotness. It has a Scoville rating of 500,000 and, if you were stupid enough to put a drop on your tongue, is like eating lava fresh from the volcano.
Next day, a couple of hours into his shift, Rick and his colleagues rush to the break room when they hear agonised shrieks coming from that direction. They all witness the baguette, a bite taken out of it, lying on the table next to a bag with Rick's name on it, and Don - his manager, remember? - howling with pain, trying to rinse his mouth out. Dribbling with snot and tears, he was taken aside by Dolly and the manager, shouted at for fifteen minutes and then fired. The company had a zero-tolerance attitude towards stealing, especially management thieves.
Revenge is a dish best served cold yet with a high Scoville rating.
Speaking Of Heat ...
Our next instalment of "The Sea Of Sand" which is set in Libya, where it is very hot indeed in the desert during daytime.
‘I can’t
tell. Thank’s to their meddling, all the
TARDIS readings are defaulting to zero.
It could be anywhere at any time.’
The time
rotor, with a fine sense of drama, settled finally to rest with a resounding
thump. Silence hung in the control
room. Both occupants looked at each
other.
Carefully, the
Doctor checked the Absolute Referential Chronometer on his console. It displayed “000000 AD” in proud red
numerals. With a sigh, he turned on the
external monitor, before checking the Circumlocution Topography display. This displayed “Planet: Unknown Galaxy:
Unknown Universe: Unknown Chronoplasty:
Unknown”
‘Looks like a
quarry, or a sandpit,’ commented Sarah, looking directly at the monitor. ‘Not very promising.’
The Doctor
looked keenly at the monitor image.
Level sand and gravel, rising in gentle billows.
‘Habitable
biosphere. Tolerable atmosphere, but a
surprisingly high level of hydrocarbons.
Odd,’ he said to himself, reading off a gauge.
Sarah looked
at the screen again. Hydrocarbons –
Doctor-speak for petrol fumes, which was odd when you thought about it, since
the landscape outside lacked any traffic.
‘So we don’t
know where we are, or when we are, or what we’re supposed to be doing?’ All she got in reply was a nod whilst the
Doctor paced round the TARDIS console, checking dials and gauges and readouts. ‘Great!’ she said sarcastically. ‘I’ve been diverted from Orly to Charles de
Gaulle, and from Heathrow to Birmingham, and got a reason in both cases. Do the Time Lords expect us to guess what to
do?’
Hmmm. Yes, Sarah. Yes, they do. That way they have plausible deniability about mucking about with time. The Doctor makes an excellent second-hand operator-cum-foil for their inscrutable meddlings.
Finally -
Well over the Adjusted Compositional Ton, and I shall have to hurry and Publish, because I've then got to trot off to Northenden to collect Darling Daughter. I think I shall wear my chunky shoes, as one doesn't have to Fight Feet into them, unlike my work shoes. Honestly, it's a battle every morning when I have to travel into the sinful big city to work.
* Yes, we are being made redundant to save £££. Go figure.
** Pronounced 'Man-ahl' with a long second 'a'.
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