No idea, frankly.

During a particularly difficult work conversation many many years ago, my somewhat prissy and process focussed boss spent five minutes articulating pomposity as an art form. Before finishing up with “your biggest problem is you are not a completer/finisher“.

No it wasn’t. I had two bigger problems than whatever the fuck that means. Firstly, I was properly brought up not to face-slap a women however much their smug, sanctimonious bearing twitches the fist of death and, secondly, I needed to pay a new mortgage about 1% more than firing out a resignation barrage ending with”Why don’t you just stick your completer-finisher up your fat arse. You’ll be needing to take your head out of it first”.

She also accused me of being – in no particular order – lazy, wasteful of what little talent I had, obstructive, mule headed, difficult, loud and generally insubordinate and lacking in respect. I TREASURE that appraisal, God I’ve so sold out. Anyway this is probably why I find myself with 13 unfinished articles. Two of which I promised for magazines back when paper was the kind of novelty that’d get your head stoved in by angry tablet makers.

But until someone – and I’d suggest a process driven individual with a penchant for detail task management* – turns down the ‘stuff happening’ meter, it’s difficult to see how the odd amusing sentence or two is going to be dragged into the published world**.

So I need your help. It’s about you bloody put something back rather than just participating in this group therapy experiment. So given the choice, which of these would you rather tut over your morning coffee***

1) A whine about what happens when starting running after ten years meets the reason you stopped
2) What to do when your satellite navigation rings. Apart from narrowly avoiding crashing, while spluttering “woooah fucking aliens are right in here with me
3) Commuting: The view from a hut. Jeez, that’s almost as dull as it sounds
4) Local dialect. The Western Debrett etiquette correct response on being asked if one wishes to “grapple with my ball joint”
5) A random line from each.
6) Nothing. Just STFU. It’s just you and your imaginary friends you know. Blogs are barely one step up from sidling up to random blokes in a pub and telling them what you had for breakfast.

It’s 6 isn’t it? Thanks for letting me down gently πŸ˜‰

* You’re dull. Get over it.

** Except for those two articles. They’re finished. Just need a final polish. Honestly.

*** Other beverages are available. Tea for Northerners. Something fresh, fruity and blended with hedgehog sperm**** for the southern metrosexuals and vodka for those of us facing a tough day.

**** Quite tricky to extract. Allegedly.

11 thoughts on “No idea, frankly.”

  1. I’d like to hear about the local dialect.. mainly so next time you’re in the forest, I can show the locals.. of course, the pickled hedgehog might need to become the ‘brutally rodded’ hedgehog.. now, where did I put my banjo? πŸ˜‰

  2. Ah Chiltern. A fine effort but in a democracy loosely based on beers for votes* I’m going to have to go with the majority.

    * if it’s good enough for the Government, it’s good enough for me. Although for ‘beer’ substitute “governor of Bermuda”

  3. I can’t decide which is funnier…that that woman so accurately described you all those years ago, or that not only are you attempting to run on those stumpy little legs of yours, but you expect us to believe that you did it before.

    ummmm, 6 please

    πŸ™‚

  4. OK. I’ve noticed your ramblings becoming more ramble (my life – it’s catching!) of late. The style has changed, the inspiration has dropped off, the motivation is waning. I can only conclude the local brew does not agree with the hedgehog! Methinks you need to come up with a shining article (no pun intended) to redeem yourself. Therefore, 1 is amusing, 2 I’ve heard, 3 could be VERY dull, 4 I’m having a premonition about, 5 has the most potential, 6 is very tempting, but I think 7 is missing! You’ve got to have more ideas than that – use the force (almost) young jedi! πŸ™‚

  5. Let’s get some things straight here:

    1) I cannot change the style. There is no style. There is barely grammar. I just start rambling and stop when the glass is empty.

    2) My legs are not stumpy. They are merely slightly undersized for the rest of my body. All you freaks out there with your 38inch stilts should get some idea of perfect proportion.

    3) That’s the last bloody time I asked for a group Internet edit. I almost* feel bad that you think I might take any notice πŸ˜‰

    4) I’ve decided to take the hedgehog up market. I just found the first three lines of an article with a working title of “A short history of farting”.

    * but not really

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