Tis that time of the day when energy levels run low, one hour left and I need a mug of black stuff to help me make it.

This lack of energy has nothing to do with all the brandy Mr S and I sat drinking after dinner as we discussed work, early jet fighters, Coats and other weird bloke stuff.

Oh no.

Apparently they are making another Star Trek movie. This one will be about the early days of Kirk and the chaps.

And guess who is listed as playing Montgomery "I cannea change tha laws o' physics" Scott?

Yep.

Simon "Hot Fuzz" Pegg!

EH?

Some clown on this conference call has just stated that as most of the jobs at my grade are in Edinburgh (with only one job at my grade in London OR Chesterfield) that the interviews for my grade will be carried out in Edinburgh.

Oh do fuck off!

And a man with a rather dull voice is telling us loads of crap, in an Irish accent no less.

Now a lying stupid fuckwit of a woman (and I have met her, this is not just based on the sound of her voice) is trying to answer some questions being put to her by one of our managers.

This big business lark is a right larf is it not.

Here is a little scenario for you:

You meet someone perfect, they are gorgeous and hot, they like the same films, music, food and books that you do. Even the things you differ on are stimulating and you talk about them for hours so that’s good too.

Then they express a liking for a thing or pastime or admiration for a person and you go:

“Oh shit” and suddenly they are not the wonderful person you thought they were. You realise that this whatever it is will cause arguments and drive you apart and you cannot see this person again.

What would it be?

Hmmmmm?

Yes, we are all invited to listen in to a conference call today where some of our "Top bods" will be available to answer any questions that we have over the removal of this team from the pages of history.

Questions about grade issues, location of the remaining posts and redundacy payments abound and are printed on a list for us to make note of the "informative" answers.

Strangely nobody has asked "seeing as you have fucked us good and proper, don't you think its about time you bought us a drink!"

Probably because they wouldn't let me ask anything.

And they have decided that 12.00 would be a good time to do this. Yep, lunch time. Fuckers.

Ho hum.

And no meno, before you start smutting up my post I do NOT mean my bedsheets!

It is a beautiful crisp autumn morning out there, clear blue sky and low angled sunlight. The field beyond the station was mist filled and silent this morning, the birds seemed to all still be asleep.

In other news,

Does no one actually do all of the job they are paid for anymore? There are signs in our toilets saying "Consider your colleagues - clean up after" so we have to do part of the cleaners job. The bin men won't pick up anything that falls out of your bin bags when they collect your rubbish as apparently once it hits the floor it ceases to be rubbish so we have to pick it up. And on tv they were saying that a percentage of children leave primary school unable to read, so they are not doing there job either.

Bastards.

As this post could degenerate into a "When I were a lad" rant with the music from the Hovis adds playing in the background I will stop now.