WCF...

It is Friday night and I am sat on a train drinking beer. This is not normal, but my already-mega-stressed situation at work is deteriorating faster than the credibility of Kat Moon's return storyline in EastEnders. For non-soap folk, that is very fucking quickly indeed.

On the plus side, redundancy may be winking a cheeky eye in my direction. I discussed this with the Missus and she said something quite beautiful and affectionate. Yes. I was stunned, too.

'If redundancy if offered, you have to take it. I want my husband back. We can have adventures,' she mused.

This, among other things, made me realise I have been a WCF (World Class Fuckwit) trying to repair the damage the current rulers of my work world have inflicted on me and everyone else. Napoleon once said:' Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.'

If anything, I need to encourage this lot in their delusions. I will be out of there much quicker. And then I can have adventures with woman I love. That will be a win. And one worth having, too