That Was The Week That Was

So this is Christmas, and what have you done?
Well, it's been a funny old week. It started off on Tuesday (I hate it when that happens!) when I told my current deputy boss to go and screw himself with a large, knobbly cactus-like implement - anything, so long as it hurt!
My crime? I went upstairs to the canteen to get the breakfast order for the office. "That is not a suitable use of your time," said the tortoise-headed press manager. "For why?" inquired Pither. "Your contract here is to write press releases and deal with the press," it replied. "You were gone 20 minutes! The office secretaries should get the breakfast order."
"Ah, I see," I replied. "I forgot. Are we also still entitled to have sex with their first-born and demand a tithe from them at the end of the day?"
"What?"
"I also caught one of them not calling me Massa Bwana this morning. Can I shoot her?"
"I am going to report you to the communications manager."
"Dear Lord! Not the communications manager!! I fear I have soiled me drawers!!!"

Cut to a meeting with the communications manager.
CM: "Why have you called this meeting, Tortoise Head?"
TH: "He won't do as he's told!"
CM: "I've logged Reg's hours. He started here last Tuesday and since then we have asked for him to cover a total of six days. In that time he has worked over his contracted time by six hours and 20 minutes. That's almost one complete flexi-day - built up over just six days. Perhaps you're being a tad over zealous about the breakfast thing?"
TH: "He also said I was a twat."
CM: "Well, you are."
Reg: "Nice one, CM."
TH: "I can't work with him. Either he goes or I do."
CM: "Goodbye!"
TH: "What!"
CM: "I'm serious, TH. I suggest you get along with Reg, and get along with him now! I'm in charge of a budget of £549 krillion, I've got a meeting with the Government Office for the region in an hour, I have to draw up a report which is going to go before Gordon Brown...........and you've got me in here debating who should and who shouldn't go to collect fucking bacon sandwiches!!!!"
Reg: "Way to go, CM. Can I kick him?"
CM: "Shut up, Reg!"

Little victories. It's what life's all about. The end of that little exchange prompted the start of a British, Commonwealth and Empire record-breaking sulk by dipshit - and that made it all the sweeter.
Then, in true Mr Benn style, as if by magic my mobile phone rang and it was one of the agencies to which I am signed up.
"You know that interview you went to on Monday? The one with the Government department? The one with an obscenely large salary? Well, you've got it! Not only that, I even managed to screw an extra £5,000 out of them for you. You start on January 21."
"Hurrah!!"

I nipped out to the nearby shops, bought the cactus mentioned earlier and presented it to Tortoise Head, with detailed instructions as to its use (by way of a leaving present). I have, however, agreed to stay on until the 21st to help out CM (for he is a good egg) find a replacement.

To celebrate my new job I brought the week to an end with a little outing last night. I had one or two dry sherries and..................well, I woke up on Padfoot's bed at 5am feeling a little unwell. The boy was similarly unimpressed as he looked down at me from the comfort of the settee.
Anyway, I've now broken up for Christmas and am looking forward to a few relaxing days at home. There are no decorations up at the Towers, there's no tree and the fridge is almost empty - what with Pad's condition and impending divorce, the Very-Soon-To-Be Ex-Mrs Pither and I decided that Christmas should be cancelled this year.
Still, you don't need a turkey and tinsel to have fun. Fun shall be had.
People with heads like tortoises - excluding tortoises themselves - can go to Grantham.

P.S. Pad is fine and eating well. In fact, he's perkier and more alert than he's been for months! He's even started playing chase in the garden again with his little sisters. He too shall have fun this Christmas.



Happy Christmas from the gang.