Stealing a moment, here. The office pace has once again stepped up. Does not bode well, no. Though yes, as has been professionally advised by both of the two lovely ladies, the work is the thing keeping the cheques signed. Complain what, lah.
Mr Ancob himself is back. I can tell, you see, by the great heaps of paper that suddenly appear all over the place. Having been taken ill during his vacation, he is rapidly and most distressingly getting healthier.
Bad news. Healthy boss makes for work-long-hours boss. I wouldn't wish a hair off his head, mind. But I think his coming in early to put paper all over the place and then packing it up in the late 'noon to rest works quite nicely. The surreptitious (one of the words I have a great fondness for, yes) coughing and sneezing on him on my part is still holding up. But not for too much longer, I fear.
Then again of course, there's the problem of his staff stealing time off proper work to write nasty things about him on the internet. Terrible people, they are.
...ok, steal a bit more.
Much like the family, the sense of humour is apparently also semi-dysfunctional. Very hit and miss. Added to scoreboard is third attempt that came out flatter than steamrolled squirrel. I suspect I'm setting myself up for a lawsuit proper, next.
Not that it would necessarily be a bad thing, mind. Those seem to do for the selling of written work what Viagra does for the...otherwise indisposed. Comes with a cement truck-load of bad associations and generally frowned upon. Occasionally kills you. But hey - works.
So, yes. Prolly not a good idea to ditch what's paying the bills for a career in stand-up. I'd have the drummer at the back in charge of the da-DUNK chings going, "Uh, tell you wot mate, we'll do hand signals for when I'm supposed to go at it, right?" .
Ah, to have a little bit more Izzard in the blood.
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