Friday, 23 January 2015

Scratching my arse


I've been a bit quiet of late, sitting around and scratching my arse, longing to go back to bed. Instead, I have been herding cats - cats who have found themselves the unwitting custodians of millions of pounds of other people's money.

As soon as the cats feel the heavy weight of responsibility that this entails, they turn into headless chickens. As soon as they turn into headless chickens, someone needs to step in and herd them using a combination of benign (but totally assumed) authority and the clear-sighted common-sense that only an outsider can provide.

You wouldn't believe the crazy decisions that most people make when they are trying to please all of the people, all of the time, and you wouldn't believe the state of blind panic that they find themselves in when someone throws a very expensive, hot potato in their hands.

Aside from my 15% project management fees I am earning from one aspect of these jobs and the great deal more from the other, I have undergone a flashingly bright and brief education process which is truly worth more money than you could ever afford to pay for it.

In a microcosm of National Politics, one job entails every single ingredient involved in running a piss-up in a brewery, but in an infinitesimally smaller scale. Not that it seems small to the people who have had the hot potato thrown at them, mind.

Ever wondered how Alistair Campbell got himself into the situation he did? Ever wondered how Machiavelli did the same? Or Rasputin? Try knocking some sense into the manifold heads of any committee and you will find out.

What's the worst that could happen? You drop a £250,000 sculpture and it becomes worthless - to the owner. You lose a million quid and 350 people lose a few thousand pounds - and their jobs. Do I look as though I care?

Well I do actually, but I am only pretending. It's the only way to keep a clear head under fire. That's a trick I learnt from Tony Blair, plus a handful of other assorted psychopaths.


30 comments:

  1. You and Tony, sitting in a tree....

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  2. Ra ra Rasputine, lover of the Russian Queen.

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    1. He died recently - the Bony M bloke.

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    2. The world's greatest dancer. Or should that read 'worst'?

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  3. Darling Tom,

    What is all this talk of hot potatoes, piss-ups in breweries, cats and headless chickens? We have to say that it is all quite beyond us. And, as for how Rasputin, Blair, Campbell and Machiavelli come into it........well, it is another country!

    We are of the view that you need a long rest. Take it easy. Put your feet up. Linger longer at your local bar. Stay in bed. The men in white coats when they come are very kind........especially if you go quietly. All will be well!

    Lovely photograph of H.I. That we saw fleetingly the other day......and now, the lovely lady has vanished. Just what is going on at Stephenson Mansions we ask?

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    1. I was thinking the same thing - about taking a bit of time off before the men in white coats come. Maybe I will take your advice - I seem to be boring (or confusing) everyone else as much as I am myself. Oh to be in Cuba, as some friends of mine are right now!

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    2. Darling Tom,

      Never boring.....never.

      But, oh to be in Cuba now that Winter is here. We have to say that we have quite taken to transporting oneself to Summer away from the cold and wet. And, Cuba would be so edgy....fabulous. Do it!

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    3. The last word you could describe Cuba with is 'edgy'.

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  4. This is all beginning to sail over my head Tom. I have always thought of you as a most reliable of men - now I hear that the men in white coats are hovering. Don't let me down that man.

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  5. I prefer working alone, I do not like committees or being "a team player". Blair saw Alistair Campbell coming, not the other way round, and made the most of him.

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    Replies
    1. Then why do you work for a council?

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    2. You got a strange collection of comments here and I thought I understood the post. Maybe I was the only one who didn't.

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    3. I think you may be the only one who did - as I said to Britta, I cannot name names for fear of dying in even worse poverty than I live in at present.

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  6. I think that you know you're not boring ….. you're funny, diverse and knowledgeable and have a magnetic personality that people seem to like, even when you are being a bit moany !! ….. I think that you're fishing for compliments !!!! XXXX

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    1. I really, REALLY, did not want that to be said, as I Really do not want to be viewed like that. I am not as self-indulgent as I might seem, and I feel strong enough to feel as though I need to fish for nothing. You could almost say that your comment was an insult, but having insulted your son in the recent past, I cannot complain too much.

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    2. Oh for God's sake …. it was meant as a compliment …… stop reading into things so much …. the fishing for compliments bit was a joke. At least I took the insult to my son with dignity.

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    3. Did you? I must have missed the dignity side of your response. All I heard was an irate mother.

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  7. I must admit that I don't quite understand this post. But that's a very cute baby animal.

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    Replies
    1. I'm glad you're back. :-)

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    2. I never went away, but thanks for being glad anyway.

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  8. Dear Tom, it's all Greek to me - but I think one should not always try to understand another person (not being able to understand myself always). Better than talking: raise a glass, say cheers and give you a big hug.

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    1. All that always welcome, thanks Britta. I suppose that the above is obscure because I cannot name names, but I forget that people don't know what I am talking about half the time.

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  9. I don't really understand what it's all about -- except for a couple of cans of worms have been opened and you are trying to help. Good luck cause you are one of the good guys and not like Tony Blair at all. Cheers and peace...

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    1. See above. Oh, actually, don't bother.

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