Thursday, September 6, 2007

Instead Of A Bum - Which Is What I Am

Today Puck was suprisingly nice to me.

After the boss called us into a meeting and informed us we should all start looking for new jobs, he took the opportunity to inform me about his involvement in the local am dram society.

Apparently their autumn production is a classic with a twist and would I be interested in coming to see it. No, I would not. I'd rather stick forks in my eyes than be witness to the desperate flailings of a flock of secondary school drama teachers, four accountants and the vicar's wife as they try to bring "Dickens to life!", whilst giving off a slight stench of self-pity with that look in their eyes of, "I coulda been a contender, I coulda been somebody". But, I allowed Puck to continue and faked my enthusiasm, as I like to fake most things at work.

"Classic with a twist?" I ask.
"Yeah, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang set in the future."
"Oh..."
"Chitty Chitty Bang Bang will be played by a Vauxhall Corsa."
"Er..."
"But don't tell everyone 'cos I'm not sure we've got all the legal side sorted yet."
"Oh, don't worry, I won't be telling anyone."

And there was me thinking his contant talk of "the players" was somehow in reference to his male sexual prowess.

Monday, September 3, 2007

Special Needs: Your Departmental Description Proceeds You...

This weekend I had to attend an infamous "staff night out". I wouldn't have minded but it wasn't even with my colleagues, it was with the special needs team from next door. One of them, whom I've nicknamed Vlad the Impaler due to his enthusiastic use of the stapler, had spotted the iceberg and was abandoning ship so, as is tradition, a bender was organised. I don't know how I managed to get myself invited but I guess a few chats with him in the kitchen about how the microwave stinks of fish constitutes a relationship.

Now I've had my mind made up about the special needs team ever since one of them got their tie stuck in the fax machine last year so the idea of spending a night in their company seemed foolhardy at best. But I was willing to push all preconceived notions to one side (with the help of my good friends Jack and Gordon) and just be all care free and shit. Yes, the evening would be a success and I would build bridges with this notorious gaggle of work shy bastards.

We met at 7 and most of them were already more drunk than I could hope to get in an entire weekend. The evening started to look gloomy. They explained how they manage to charge most of their stationary orders to our account; I laughed politely. They told me how they always use our teams milk, sugar and teabags because they forget to buy their own and find it hilarious when I blow my top about our vanishing supplies; I smiled weakly. The evening started to cry into it's beer. They told me how they were three months behind on producing their new booklets for school admissions, which impacts on my job in ways I don't dare imagine; I stared at them blankly. The evening contemplated taking a suicidal leap from Beachy Head.

Then Rohyponol Ray showed up.

Rohyponol Ray is one of their senior managers who makes my all-time top ten list of 'men who make my skin crawl like a maggot orgy'. He looks like a second hand cars salesman who sawdusts the mileage, not someone with a social care degree. I've heard him say the following things (fortunately not to me):

"I want to worship your body."
"She's protecting that small boy. It's despicable."
"These aspergers kids aren't meeting my targets. Tell them to get their act together."
"It's not my problem if you live next door to a paedophile, love."
"I wish Jeffrey Archer would get back into politics. At least he was honest about lying."

He entered the pub like one might enter an ITV quiz show and proclaimed he was here to "get traumatised", but first he had to chat up the "pod-pod ding-dong" behind the bar. The evening slit it's wrists and overdosed on paracetamol. The coroner was called.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

You Brought This On Yourself

As previously mentioned I'm exposed to stupid children's names on a daily basis. It brings me great joy but then great sadness instantaneously. But something happened yesterday that I'd be hoping, nay PRAYING, for. I've waited a whole year and it finally came...brace yourselves...yes, yesterday I entered a child into our system called HARRY POTTER. I had tears in my eyes. God bless you, Mr and Mrs Potter, although I will be reporting you to social services.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Yes, I've Tried Turning It Off and Back On Again...

My broadband providers have given me the finger. Apparently they are "migrating my service" and it won't be fully active again until Friday. Bar stewards. I pretended I had an online business and their shitty service was costing me but they officially could not give a fuck.

I would be angry but being internet-less is strangely liberating. I've started speaking to people in the flesh again and read some fiction out of an actual book. It's novel. I've also started to make my own Christmas cards. Maybe the cheese has slid off my cracker and I haven't noticed.

I've also got very into Channel 4 sitcom The IT Crowd, which I seemed to ignore when it first came round. It's hilarious, mainly because it's steeply based in reality.

Now I bet you're wondering how I'm making this post without internet access? I'll let you ponder that. It's called "building suspense" which is a writing technique I learnt in University....

Friday, August 24, 2007

Good Morning, How Can I Help?

I have worked for the council for a year now. It took me the first two weeks to completely lose my faith in all humanity. Nothing has happened since to raise the standing but occassionally you get a phone call that at least makes you break a rib with laughter.

Me: Good morning. How can I help?
Man: I've lost my dog.
Me: Sorry, I think you're through to the wrong number. This is the Education department.
Man: But you are the council?
Me: Yes, but we don't handle such....enquiries.
Man: Right. Can you send someone out to find my dog?
Me: Not really...because we're Education.
Man: Do you have a department that can help?
Me: Um...probably not...it's not something the council would usually deal with.
Man: Oh...but it's a spaniel.
Me: How long has the dog been missing?
Man: Half an hour.
Me: Riiiiiight.
Man: Should I ring the police instead?
Me: Yeah, why not.

Turns out I'm not alone in the world...

Recent Complaints Received By The Council

My bush is really overgrown round the front and my back passage has fungus growing in it.

He's got this huge tool that vibrates the whole house and I just can't take it anymore.

It's the dog's mess that I find hard to swallow.

I want some repairs done to my cooker as it has backfired and burnt my knob off.

I wish to complain that my father hurt his ankle very badly when he put his foot in the hole in his back passage.

And their 18 year old son is continually banging his balls against my fence.

I wish to report that tiles are missing from the outside toilet roof. I think it was bad wind the other night that blew them off.

My lavatory seat is cracked, where do I stand?

I am writing on behalf of my sink, which is coming away from the wall.

Will you please send someone to mend the garden path. My wife tripped and fell on it yesterday and now she is pregnant.

I request permission to remove my drawers in the kitchen.

50% of the walls are damp, 50% have crumbling plaster and 50% are plain filthy.

The toilet is blocked and we cannot bath the children until it is cleared.

Our lavatory seat is broken in half and is now in three pieces.

The man next door has a large erection in the back garden, which is unsightly and dangerous.

Our kitchen floor is damp. We have two children and would like a third so please send someone round to do something about it.

I am a single woman living in a downstairs flat and would you please do something about the noise made by the man on top of me every night.

Please send a man with the right tool to finish the job and satisfy my wife.

This is to let you know that our lavatory seat is broke and we can't get BBC2.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

An Open Letter To Love

Dear God/Buddha/Allah/Zeus/Noel Edmonds/Jimmy Saville,

I've been a moderately good girl for the past year so I was thinking, as a reward, you might consider dropping some male-shaped interest into my withering love life. I'm looking for someone aged 24 to 35, 5ft 11+, employed, in the inoffensive to attractive looking range, with his own car who lives in or around the UK or associated islands (not Guernsey).

Yours sincerely,

Muffy


.............................................

Dear Muffy,

Thank you for your letter. I have now processed your request and can offer you the following:




  • A patronising pervert who is old enough to be your dad but still lives with his mother, who as your work superior likes to offload all his assignments onto you and then complains, to you, that he has too much work, whilst complimenting you on your slimness.

  • The 18-year-old photocopier repair boy who thinks his Sat Nav will impress you.

  • The office supplies lesbian that thinks her multi-coloured post-its will impress you.

  • An attractive man who shares your sense of humour, music and film taste and philosophical beliefs, aged 28, 6ft 2, who lives locally and drives an Alfa Romeo . You will start to get quite carried away with him and then you find out, from someone else, he has a wife.
Kind Regards,
God/Buddha/Allah/Zeus/Noel Edmonds/Jimmy Saville


.............................................

Dear God/Buddha/Allah/Zeus/Noel Edmonds/Jimmy Saville,

Oh. Can you at least make the rest of August a bit warm and sunny so I can wear my nice skirts in the hope of attracting some better prospects?

Regards,
Muffy


.............................................


Dear Muffy,

No.

Love,
Noel Edmonds.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

I Broke It...Near Me Arse

After a brief passionate fumble with umpteen American studio films featuring one Mr Jacob Gyllenhaal, I've returned to my first love: British independent cinema. Is there any other kind of British cinema? Yes, but we won't mention it here.

Unfortunately this reignited flame has led to me pissing off almost everyone I know by forcing Shane Meadows films upon them and also reminding people to "watch the director's commentary! It's the funniest thing ever...if you've got two hours to spare", which is envitably greeted with a nervous smile and a quick change of subject.

But just to prove I am jusitifed and my crusade will eventually prosper watch this clip from A Room For Romeo Brass. If you don't laugh, just a little bit, then you are dead inside.