"If I'm funnier, they'll forget we're moving to Moss Side." No, no we won't.

The middle manager has been at it again. My inbox was graced with this today.

For the annual work party, the boss has decided that because of liability issues, we can have alcohol, but only one drink per person...

She will sack me for ordering the cups.



Apart from violating our organisation's email policy, it just isn't funny. That alone would be grounds for dismissal in my world. What a prick.

Volte-face

Face-to-face conversation at 5.30pm

"I'd rather just be friends. We should stop sleeping together"
"You're right. Besides, people at work are getting a bit suspicious."
"I've noticed that too. So that's it. All done. Deal?"
"Deal."


Text message at 7.15pm

"I've had few drinks, do you want to come round for some sex?"

Saint Lucinda of the Busted Tooth...

...came to my house to write me a second prescription for my sore tooth. Amazing. She's got a new car, a little retro sporty number.

After she left, I texted Pervy. Now that Lu has that car (I wrote) his Mini won't get mistaken as belonging to the woman in their relationship. He didn't reply all night. Have I gone too far?

Biscuits from Twitter

Via twitter, @gracefh offered biscuits to anybody that would send her their address. I did. If I die on Thursday, that's why.

In bad, good; in good, bad.

Bad news, my tooth hurts. Good news, Lucinda gave me some pills for it.
Bad news, no booze on the antibiotics. Good news, I could do with the break.

Oh mercy

Emma broke her ankle at Glastonbury, so – being the dutiful friend – I went round to make her dinner, then push her wheelchair up to the Knott to meet Tracy and Andy. The evening went really well, until the very end, when she decided that she didn’t want to bump out of the pub and down the step in the chair, and that she’d stand out of the chair, pivot on one foot, hop out of the door and then get back into the chair. After three pints of cider. Bad idea. She slipped and landed on it. Owww!

Her tears turned into whimpers as I pushed her home, and she started to get really upset.

“They were all laughing at me. Nobody knows how hard it is to be in this chair.”

That wasn’t how I saw things, but I bit my lip. She went on.

“It’s not funny. I bet they wouldn’t find it so funny if it was them.”

I partly saw her point – having a broken ankle sucks – and partly thought she was making a meal out of it. A three course meal. And as she complained more, my tolerance lessened. Still I bit my lip. Luckily, if you’re pushing a wheelchair, your passenger can’t see your face.

I put her to bed, washed up, and left. All the way home I felt pissed off at her for being such a pain.

Once I got back, I felt pissed off at myself for being so merciless.

Keck hearts Jackon's Boat

After watching the Lions beat the Boks in the thrid test, I walked with Ollie and ZBox to collect Ollie’s car from Chorlton. We went along the river in the drizzle, looping around Mersey Bank park, then up to the lake at the Water Park. We saw a burning bin, and called the fire brigade. It had almost burnt itself out by the time they got there, and I was embarrassed to have troubled them. Safety first, eh? We saw frogs the size of our fingernails. Jackson’s Boat made quite an impression on Ollie. Ollie has a field that we could camp out in, it turns out. I was asked to plan something. It could be very cool – late night games in the woods, beers around the fire – I guess we’ll see what happens.

After chips from the Atlantic Fish Bar back at Rock HQ, Ollie drove me down to Didsbury to see Jim and Sean. Paul’s parents showed up. Steve’s were there too. Guardi said that he has Shed Seven tickets, do I want one? Yes please. I saw Bernie for the first time in ages – since Leo’s birthday, in fact. She was very interested in Lucinda’s handiwork on my teeth.

Painted defensive zones don't protect you from your own cruel friends

I met Ollie and Zoe for a few drinks in Chorlton, Electrik and then on to Argyll’s. I put in my PIN and waited at the cash machine. As I was choosing how much money to take out, Olly leapt over my shoulder and pressed £150. Gutted. Still, I took home £145. Not all bad.

Impromtu barbecue

I hosted a barbecue for seven this evening, without really meaning to. Woody left his fresh herbs under my care during Glastonbury, and they grew and grew during that time. When I saw Clare for lunch yesterday, I suggested that she should come to my house to collect them.

“Why not come for food too?”
“It’s nice out. Why not have a barbecue?”
“Why not indeed?”

Zoe, Woody, Durex, Paul and Ollie all came by too. The house and garden went down a storm, and the company was great. I’m still a little nervous that the house is a long way for people to come too, especially from Didsbury, but I hope that tonight lessened that psychological distance for my friends.

Don't blame the middleman, come to me

Ever since we were so shabbily taken to the Moss Side office and told “Here’s your new office!” the middle manager has been sending around ‘funny’ (i.e not funny at all) emails. Emails like the one below.

STRESS MANAGEMENT TECHNIQUE
Just in case you are having a rough day, here is a stress management technique recommended in all the latest psychological journals. The funny thing is that it really does work..
1. Picture yourself lying on your belly on a warm rock that hangs out over a crystal clear stream.
2. Picture yourself with both your hands dangling in the cool running water.
3. Birds are sweetly singing in the cool mountain air.
4. No one knows your secret place.
5. You are in total seclusion from that hectic place called the world.
6. The soothing sound of a gentle waterfall fills the air with a cascade of serenity.
7. The water is so crystal clear that you can easily make out the face of the person you are holding underwater.

I don’t understand. Does he think that circulating such tedious shite is going to make us forget that we’re moving to Moss Side? If he’s trying to win us over with humour, he should at least try to make it vaguely amusing.

The email above is the second this week. The only comfort for the other disgruntled employees and me is that he’s directly contravening our organisation’s email policy. Delete or file? Maybe I’ll file it. It might come in handy one day.