The War Of The Trousers

This morning, I have suffered the greatest affront to democracy since the traitorous Stanley’s switched sides at the battle of Bosworth Moor. Some direct descendent of that false King, Henry VII, has performed an underhand trouserectemy in the lockers.

The usurper has only gone and moved my kit from a locker that is forever England and exciled it to some lawless region that for the sake of this metaphor can be thought of as Bolton. Now there’s an unwritten law for locker-space where newcomers fit in where they can and respect the heirachy of those of us who came before. Yet this full blooded Lancastrians’ approach has the appearance of ethnic cleansing with all his (and it has to be said rather nasty pink shirt and brown shoes) stuff anchored against a prized wall while my belongings have been banished far and wide.

This will not stand. There are battles worth fighting and battles worth running away before re-writing history to your advantage. So this is where the shifting sands of personal space stop shifting. To this end, I’m prepared to upgrade this minor border skirmish to total war including the use of archers and siege weapons. I’ve re-established the correct front line garrisoning my clothes with a damp towel. His stuff has been roughly re-housed squeezed between other locker users moist smalls. Stretching the metaphor yet further, while my trousers are enjoying an elevated view of the Vale of York, his garments are treading water in the Wigan outfall.

For his sake, this had better be the end of it. Otherwise the changing room will split down regional lines and inevitably an all out conflict will ensue. Except, I expect the southern softies shall mince around in their Calvin Klein underwear whining “oh no don’t hurt each other, I’m sure we can resolve this by talking”. Like hell we can. It may have been 550 years since Richard III was wrongfully deposed but that’s a mere chronological bagatelle to a card carrying Yorkshireman. There’s unfinished business and after this outrageous slur to my personal space, I’m the man to finish it! He’s thrown down the gauntlet and I’ll be picking it up to both accept his challenge and give him a good slapping.

For those unknowing of the “Vietnam of the middle ages”, I can recommend the tragically impartial War Of The Roses site. Others prefering a somewhat more partisan summary of that conflict, let me offer up the line taken by my History teacher back in Yorkshire: “It was a lucky draw and we didn’t want the throne anyway. Plus those cheating b@stards ended up with Manchester so that’s all right then

In other news I’ve been offered a Full-on Tax Simulation from our payroll department which has the hallmarks of a low budget porn movie. Probably worth attending then.

2 thoughts on “The War Of The Trousers”

  1. It’s a conspiracy! Stupidly I ordered a set of forks from behind enemy lines and as a consequence of trading with the enemy they’ve sent me the wrong ones. Very nice they are but entirely inappropriate and short of shipping me a spoon to go with them, I’m not entirely sure they could be any less useful.

    Apparently it’ll get “sorted out by the weekend”. Compounding my stupdity I forgot to ask “which weekend”

    Shouldn’t have been a tightwad and bought them off Tim instead 🙁

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *