Self-opinionated, arrogant, racist, sexist, homophobic, rude and ill-mannered. Discourteous, disparaging, disrespectful and derogatory. Humiliating, hurtful, loathsome and downright offensive. Surely, I can’t be all those things. Can I?Continue reading the poster
I’m a smoker, an outcast from society destined to spend the rest of my life – some might say that won’t be long if I continue smoking – standing outside in the cold, huddled up against a wall in the vain hope of finding a little protection from the howling wind, driving rain, sleet, snow and anything else God in his anger and frustration with the world might throw at me. I don’t know about the ciggies killing me, I’m more than likely going die from hyperthermia or pneumonia before then. (It’s amazing how we smokers come up with every reason under the sun not to quit. I’m half expecting some eminent doctor to publish a paper insisting that filling your lungs with acrid smoke, nicotine, tar and general gooey stuff is actually good for you… only to find out he’s a smoker.Continue reading outcast
It may be unorthodox, but I suspect the interview technique for anyone applying to be a telephone operator on the BT technical helpline, is that they sit the prospective applicant in a chair and ask them to read a script out loud while people throw things at them – paperclips, pens, mouldy slices of half-eaten pizza – anything that might distract them. And if they can get through this process without deviating from the script or answering the one serious question asked of them in the midst of all this mayhem, then the job’s theirs. And why do I suspect this? Bitter experience.Continue reading is there a god?
I’m writing this as I sit waiting for the paramedics to arrive. I thought I’d better get in touch with them after receiving an urgent telephone call earlier from an intense young man concerned about my health and wellbeing. He wasn’t a doctor, a nurse, not even a voodooist sticking pins in an effigy of me whilst sacrificing a squawking chicken, he was just some average bloke who was convinced I’d had an accident recently. At least, that’s what he said.Continue reading A nasty gash
True to our agreement that when we go away we have at least one day of culture when holidaying or having a weekend away, on a visit to Liverpool I accompanied Mrs T to the Tate Museum. It was a disaster waiting to happen.Continue reading There’s no ‘E’ in tat
The Fat Barmaid, a nickname coined by one of my colleagues for our then director of quality and vindictive personal vendettas for the educational institute in which I worked, was out to get me… and a rehearsal for a forthcoming higher education inspection was the perfect place to start.Continue reading The Fat Barmaid