There is a very important meeting in here this morning so everyone has been shoehorned into suits. I’m sort of wearing a sort-of-suit, dark jeans (I’m riding in on a bitch with a top speed in excess of 150, I’m not going to protect my legs with a hairsbreadth of suit fabric am I) smart but snazzy zip-up boots, shirt (no tie of course, hey, ties r 4 squares, yeah) and a waistcoat, cheap as chips that was, Primark. Anyway, I look noticeably unkempt and dishevelled in comparison to my colleagues. Which is fine by me, yeah. I live by my own rules. The boss isn’t too happy mind, hey, fuck him yeah. Yeah.
Before my meeting in town yesterday (30 mins each way by tube for a very successful 7 minute ‘yessss’) there was an altercation in the office. I’m positive I mentioned the fucking raspberry in here who regularly loses the plot and starts screaming into his keyboard… Yes, him, the same tool that nearly lost us a massive contract with a renown broadcasting corporation by being rude to a company secretary… well he lost it completely yesterday and was venomously aggressive to a colleague in his 60’s who didn’t take too kindly having a favour spurned (quite bizarrely I hasten to add, like so many cunts he’s thicker than a bulls dick) in such an appalling manner.
The looney (in his 50’s) squared up to the older fella and they were seconds away from coming to blows, if it wasn’t for another colleague intervening I’ve no doubt it would’ve kicked off. I on the other hand was keen to see what would happen. Being recently familiar with the sight of arseholes having their faces smashed-up I thought a second beating might set the precedent for a run of wankers getting their comeuppances. Oh well.
As usual I woke up to Today this morning (not This Morning today, note.) I’ve a question. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to get Evan Davis involved? It’s one thing to present Dragon’s Den and another to hold yourself against the cream of world politics. He’s not the wit, souse or aggression to interview concisely, he asks completely banal and random questions and nine times out of ten hands the upper hand to the interviewee. I actually hand to turn him off this morning; the man sets my teeth on edge, the bald jug-eared git. BBC, fire him for fucks sake, he’s making your flagship programme look trite and flaccid.
Jesus Christ, The Raspberry has just walked into the office and hour and half late wearing a fucking hoody, he’s in his 50’s! What the fuck is going on?!