Proper Fucking Jobs
Jesus fucking Christ almighty, please let it all end. I am in the last two days of work before my Christmas break and I am so fucking booooored of having to do a job. Honestly, I’ve refreshed my email and the Guardian football page and the Toad stats and the other email and the Teamtalk football page and Dispatches From the Culture Wars and usemycomputer.com and another email and just about fucking everything more times an hour for the last couple of days than I can bear to remember.  I’m done, it’s over, it’s the holidays, just let us go home please!
There was a study released recently about how the last week of work is basically considered a big skive by British workers. I forget who conducted the research itself, but the Department of Bleeding Obvious seem like the most obvious candidates. I have been firing on about half a cylinder for a fortnight, just waiting to be put out of my misery, put my feet up and drink a gallon of gin in half an hour.
It’s not that I dislike my proper job, I really don’t. It’s about as enjoyable, challenging and engaging a job as I could imagine doing, it’s just been a really heavy few months in terms of workload, the house business has been wearing and I bloody well need a break. I bet I’m not the only one.
I have a stack of CDs to take to France to see the folks and my little brother and I cannot wait for the chance to listen to them through, chattering about the music and various other things, and drinking gin into the small hours. My brother and I have a ritual that involves sitting in the kitchen with the small, crappy CD player, supping gin and catching up. We’ll talk until late, get heroically pickled and listen to all sorts of new music. Most of it I’ll have already put up on the site somewhere or used in a podcast or something, so don’t feel you’re missing out, but this is one of the things I am most looking forward to about Christmas.
That and not thinking about work or the bloody house for ten days of course.
Yo La Tengo – (Straight Down to) The Bitter End
The Rakes – 22 Grand Job (Live At The Carling Weekend, Reading Festival)
Believe me, it could be worse. I’ve got a classic Monster Boss who has been spending the days before Xmas break dreaming up new, ill-defined projects which she is convinced simply must, must, must be finished before Christmas. I think she figures since she’s giving us the whole Xmas week off that she has to squeeze an extra week’s worth of work and stress out of us beforehand. Otherwise, we’d be ripping her off, and what self-respecting entrepreneur is going to sit still for that?
So count yourself lucky that you’re bored
Hey, in case I don’t get another chance, happy Christmas to you.
Don’t think I’m not pinching those CD’s too. I’ve been listening to nothing but the nutcracker for a month now!
Poor Matthew Cratchit. I can see you now, shivering next to the empty coal scuttle. Except that instead of heading back to Camden town for your meagre supper you get to go to bleedin’ France and nosh on Oysters while listening to Mariee Sioux in your underdrawers! No doubt there’ll be 750 ml bottles of Belgian beer with every meal as well. Aww, quit yer bitchin.’
Oh, Matthew if you only knew. I’ve been expected to work every day here. Plus they want me to work at least parts of days for parts of next week. My resistance effort takes the form of perusing my favorite blogs for nuggets I can steal. Stealing toad sketches doesn’t seem appropriate though. Moving on.
Happy (merry) Chrsitmas.
You can pinch ‘em all you please. Leave me a link and you can do as you please. I haven’t coloured ‘em in yet, but sometimes stuff like this benefits from not being over-worked. You can ruin a nice sketch sometimes by trying to ‘finish’ it.
And actually (fuck off C&B) I am not complaining about my job. I have never liked a job and a company this much before, so I am not whinging about them. I am just tired and ready for a break.
A break replete with gin, oysters, no Belgian beer, but 2.- Euros per bottle Cotes du Rhone and fine roast pork belly and then some goose on Christmas Day.
You can see how another day sending emails pales somewhat in comparison, I hope!
I have officially fucked off.
& I, Mr Toad, will be fucking orf in about 2hrs time — the traditional end of year fare here includes 3 hours morning frantic scrabble to clear the desk/emails of anything nasty/important; composing Out Of Office email messages; 11am raffle off of gifts received throughout the year from clients & partners; 12pm mince pies/nibbles & champers/sparkling wine/Buck’s Fizz/beer/general dad pop piss up; daughters of the MD doing a song & dance for us (they are young & privately educated & it’s like the fucking Von Trapps, but still we’re not behind a desk staring at this fucking glare); 2pm off we trot to the pub & then home.
)
A Merry Christ Almighty & a Dapper Neu Year to you & the trousers, Mr T.
x DC
See you lads. Thanks for all the comments this year. Makes it all worthwhile when you muppets pop round to call me a pillock from time to time.
“…Cotes du Rhone and fine roast pork belly.”
Had some for tea this week..
Roast the belly on the ribs, enjoy the belly meat for your meal. Separate the ribs off after roasting, marinate them for an indefinite period of time (Do I look like Delia?!) in some vaguely chinese flavours (Honey, five spice, soy, chili, ketchup etc.).. Flash roast again to make the marinade go all sticky and merrily munch on them whenever the moment takes you. Delightful with gin. (But hey – like you need me to tell you that!)
Merry Christmas!
More or less anything, Dylan, is delightful with gin.
Top tip mate, thanks. And we can try it now we finally have an oven that works!
hhhummmmmmmmm