So this is it?

I know I promised this blog was going to be nothing but unadulterated fun, fun, fun!

I lied.

It’s also going to include poems.  Or at least the one anyway…

I’ve got a couple of great blog posts brewing….but they are going to require a certain amount of thought process.  This is hard enough at the best of times, so I thought I’d fob you off with something I wrote over a decade ago until my muse strikes.

The story behind this….my only poem….goes like this.

I’d moved to London two-years previously and had been temping my way round every shitty job in the city since then, looking for that elusive “foot in the door” job that would kick-start my illustrious rise up the food chain of life.

On this occasion, I found myself working as a temp secretary (oh the glamour!) for a company (whose name I have eradicated from memory) that refurbished Tube Station platforms….among other terrifically exciting projects.  I do remember that most of the office “banter” revolved around concrete.  So you can just imagine the hilarity.

I’d been there a couple of weeks and things weren’t going entirely well.  For a kick off, everybody thought I was gay.  Their reasoning behind this was that I was friendly to the only gay guy in the office…so I MUST BE ONE! Lovely bunch.

But, the first warning sign that my days were numbered and that it was unlikely I’d ever get a gold watch was when the head of HR called me into her office and asked if I’d been drinking.

The conversation went something like this:

“A few members of staff have complained to me that you smell of alcohol. So I have to ask if you’ve been drinking in the last 12 hours?”

*I should point out here I was absolutely flabbergasted there were so many arse licking jobsworth c*nts in my office….and completely bemused by this weird 12 hour rule*

“Yes…I have had a drink in the last 12 hours.  I was out on the piss last night until 4am…and it’s *checks watch* 1pm now…..I’m afraid I didn’t manage a shower this morning as I was running a tad late… that a problem?”

“Mark…we have a zero tolerance to alcohol in this firm.”

“Seriously?  So I can’t even have a pint at lunch time?”

“No Mark…have you been drinking at lunch time?  That’s a sackable offence.”

“Nope.”  *OF COURSE I HAVE!  IT’S THE ONLY WAY I CAN MAKE IT THROUGH THE AFTERNOON IN THE GOD FORSAKEN HELL HOLE!*  “So….let me get this straight…I’m not allowed to go out and have a drink unless I go to bed at 9pm the night before or I’ll get sacked?”


…..and so it went on until I promised this was a “one-off”.

To be fair…I was absolutely reeking of booze… had been a most excellent evening!  But honestly…

So….I went back to my desk, cast my eye around the shower of shit I was sharing an office with and wrote this poem.

SO THIS IS IT?  (August 1998)

So this is it?

I sit

Too tight

And typewrite….shite

You need to get a job, they said

With a suit and a tie and a pat on the head

So that’s what I did, because that’s what they said

So here sit I…

Like a turgid, fossilised shit

Brain dead, were it not for the drip…drip…drip

That infuriates senses that shouldn’t exist!

And then there’s the rhythmical, clinical, pumping machine

That spits out the paper without aid of steam

And causes your eyes to fall back in your head

As your mouth opens wide like a flytrap instead

So I sit here…

What’s one more hour added on to a year?

And I’ll curse every one of you bastards out there

With your stuff and your lives and your fabulous hair

Who don’t need to sit all alone in a chair

And stare at a screen

As it slowly….but surely

S h a t t e r s…………………..Y o u r…………………D r e a m s


The next day I went in to work and was taken to an empty room filled floor to ceiling with filing cabinets. I was told that my job for the next few days was to pull out every contract in those cabinets, search for two specific pieces of paper, photocopy them once and then return them to the folder.

I told them to shove it.

And almost immediately after that….my adult life began…more about that later.


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