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
