In which I refuse to compete for a plaque.
Every month the company I work for run a company wide recognition scheme, it is open to all individuals and is a similar programme to those I have experienced in other places of work. The greatest part about this recognition scheme is how every wins every month. No matter how good or poor you are you win a prize, and that prize is handily deposited into your bank account and you receive a certificate with details of how much you won.
This is the recognition I need for my job, this little donation to helping me keep my way of life is the reward I get for dedicating 35 hours a week to the needs of a company. I do this for you and what you do allows me to spend weekends with Mrs G or buy pretty things for the Feliciraptor. It is a perfect arrangement. What disturbs the waters is when “Recognition Schemes” come into play.
Continue reading “Well done for doing your job”
In which I accept your challenge.
Other than riding my bike up the street the wrong way I’m a very good boy. I try to stay out of trouble for a number of reasons, like it is a cramp on my lifestyle to be in prison and I’d have to explain why I’m entangled with the Po-Po to my family. Neither of these are particularly attractive options.
As a result I try not to break the rules, I’m scared of being caught and of the consequences. Instead I prefer to push against the boundaries of bureaucracy and see how far I can bend them to my will. I am much happier to teeter along the edge of genius and failure.
The other option is to find the loophole in the rules and exploit them. I subscribe to Alexander the Great’s Gordian knot solution, if the laws of the game are ill-defined then use that to your ability.
Continue reading “Don’t tell me no”
In which I prepare for my 35th year.
Despite my New Year Humbuggery I do like to have a set of vague goals for the upcoming months. I call them goals because this makes it hurt less when I fail to meet one, naming them resolutions just dares me to break them.
So my goals for 2015 are to try and move life on a bit, I’ve had a good few years laying down the foundations for a good life (getting married, fathering, house buying etc) and now feel as though this is the year to kick on a bit. With that in mind I have my backlog from 2014 and some new aspirations.
Continue reading “2015 Goals (not resolutions)”
In which nothing was stirring, not even a dinosaur.
As I was milling around the house last night I came to realise something quite scary, tomorrow is Christmas. I’m sure that the War on Christmas has scared the holiday into going underground and it has stealthily crept upon me ready to garrotte me with a handful of tinsel.
I dislike preparing for Christmas at the best of times, so when it’s thrust upon me all of a sudden I feel a twinge of regret that I didn’t prepare sooner, say in January. I don’t begrudge Christmas it’s existence more the amount of work that it requires. Continue reading “Here it is, Merry Christmas”
In which I would rather give the money.
Green vegetables and Christmas Shopping. Three things I really hate. Apparently the joy is meant to be in the giving, yet how can such a horrible activity be joyous?
The traditional way I suppose is going out into the Christamased up stores and joining my fellow shoppers in walking around really slowly, blocking up aisles, searching through racks and shelves for the size of item you require. Then once you have acquired said item proceed to join the large queue at the tills to be greeted by a shop assistant with the same amount of Christmas spirit as a virgin hot toddy. All the while knowing that the item you are paying for will be reduced by 25% within hours of the final serving of pudding on the 25th.
The average present is appreciated for less time than it takes to acquire it. Continue reading “The Christmas Joy, of shopping”
In which I don’t need to grab a razor.
Gillette and the shaving industry have me on a blacklist. My DNA could bring down the whole shaving industry in one swoop ruining their ‘cheap handles – extortionate blades’ model. I am the Anti-Remington.
It is almost impossible for me to grow facial hair.
I only really shave once a week, and that is just because I need to reduce the length of the hairs coming from any freckles or moles. I cannot remember when I put the latest blade in my razor, but I have a feeling it was when two blades was the pinnacle of face gardening technology. I don’t really need it to be sharp, a vigorous face wash tends to do the trick. Continue reading “I can’t join in with Movember”