snap fuck

The office radio is broken which means we're forced to hear our own voices. It makes the mornings rather long though, having to listen to the kaleidoscopic sounds of breaking wind, snapping bands (followed by a swift 'FUCK!!!') and extra loud football gumph.
Makes a change from Jam
ie Fucking Theakston informing me of a 'snarl up on the M25'. Yeah, cheers Jimmy lad, I'll avoid it. By 300 miles. The tuning of the rad
io's a bit of a free for all and it usually rests on Theakston and co. for some unknown reason. I liked the brief moment some wag tuned it to 'birdsong FM' and an ethereal calm descended on the office. Production, moral: all rose in those blissful 5 minutes.
Then some cloth eared bastard found Sarah Kennedy and the whole system collapsed. Today with the eerie, wind punctured, silence; the stifling heat; the ceiling fans stirring the foul air; it had the feel of a particularly bad episode of Tenko. The one where they're made to stuff unwanted mail into plastic slots.
Talking of unwanted crap, we had a staff meeting last week regarding 'door to doors'. They're the pizza leaflets etc you get bundled in with your regular mail. From now on they're classed as mail and are integrated into the workload. What this means is that we're no longer paid extra for delivering these but each are given a weekly lump sum of £20, regardless of how many you deliver. This change was the major sticking point in the Agreement recently signed by Royal Mail and the Union, and a particularly sore point for many posties. The meeting to announce this was chaired by a stand in manager from Morecambe. He looks like an out of shape darts player and his general 'I'm the boss and I don't give a shit' attitude inspires much diffidence. Suffice to say he mumbled his way through the meeting not really giving a monkey's toss about how we implement this change and as a result chaos reigns. I can't say I'm not sleeping at night worrying for the undelivered Somerfield brochures and it's pizza brothers, but it's a sure-fire sign of things to come and the more fundamental changes planned.
Dogs also came up in a meeting and I seized my chance to provide a (rather long) list for the Dog Warden and his bolt gun (they do shoot them don't they?). Hell, I'll pull the fucking trigger, just let me torture the hounds first, then the owners. My wheelie bin/large dog moment last week has put paid to any crumb of sympathy I may have held. The sour faced bitch owner gave me grief for her animal attacking me. I was speechless and shaking. I didn't sign up for this, battling dumb animals (and their pets). I just want to give them their chavware catalogues/final demands and fuck off home.