By way of an apology
A brief glance at my recent scribblings makes me cringe.
Dropping my trousers in the pharmacy? Cleaning shit out of the carpet? Putting my phone in the washing machine? What the fuck am I rambling about or am I just sliding quietly into senility?
It’s not as it there are interesting things going on in the world.
I confess I am enjoying a perverse pleasure in watching the gobshites in my old sweatshop tearing themselves asunder. I heard it stated by someone during the week that there were two RTEs. There was the one where staff tried to produce programmes with diminishing resources and cuts in salaries while the other RTE was the Third Floor [RTE-speak for the executives] enjoyed lavish budgets that were neatly hidden by accountants.
I never had much time for the Third Floor and had a few run-ins with the Director of Finance from time to time. This culminated in an order coming down that I was immediately to be “put out the gate”. That last incident happened when I was on my way to fix a network problem that was affecting a programme that was going out live on air. As I was making my way to the Radio Centre I got a call to fix a small problem on the Director’s PC and that I was to attend to it immediately. I carried on and fixed the radio network and then went to fix the errant PC on the Third Floor. The cunt was livid that I hadn’t rushed up instantly and demanded I be sacked. I had a meeting with my manager where I pointed out that in my book, a problem on a live radio programme took priority over a minor PC problem no matter who owned the PC. I kept my job.
There were other instances of the sense of entitlement the Third Floor held. A small example was the time they replaced all toilet paper with that cheap grease-proof paper arse-wipe to save on costs, while at the same time the toilets on the Third Floor were being refurbished with new tiles, hand driers and of course lonely soft jax paper. I could go on and on and on….
On second thoughts, maybe my belt is more interesting?
Well, at least you haven’t (yet?) dropped your trousers in the pharmacy and taken a shit on their carpet!
Hah! You got marked s spam because you mentioned the word “pharmacy”. AI at it again….
Is it that power corrupts, or that power builds ego?
In their case, both.
What’s amusing me is that they are all blaming the Director General. In the last two weeks she has in turn gone on leave, been suspended, been sacked and is now claiming she’s sick. Poor girl!
Who cares about them above the ground floor anyway – your ramblings match many of my experiences – please keep them up (as well as your trousers!)
Just you enjoy yourself auld fellah. And myself older than you! Schadenfreude is such a good word. I wonder that us outlander Celts, the folk that came up with “gobshite” “haughmagandie”, “spondulicks” and “bahoochie” did not come up with an equivalent.
And your tales of overstressed leather and canine excrement is more interesting than listening to our waffling pollies.
Funny that the Beeb is keeping schtum about the RTE shenanegins.
And another thing. Dog shit, politely called “pure” was collected in pre industrial times for the tanning process of leather. So maybe it you had rubbed your belt with Penny’s gift your trousers would still be secure.
“Funny that the Beeb is keeping schtum about the RTE shenanegins.” – They have their own problems!
And I’m still puzzled about the total disappearance of white dog shit.