A dream of changing jobs

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Yesterday was the end of a rough week. At the fag end of the week the last thing I wanted was to be summoned to a meeting with the toad. One of the pleasing things about this diminutive ball of lard is that he has a heart condition grave enough that doctor’s orders is that he cannot fly. As I was ushered into the presence of His Ugliness the thuggish brain dead security guard got out a cigarette for the Toad. Anyhow, he told me he had a problem with me and all that. The long and the short of it is that my job is under threat. Both those who have denounced me happen to be Ishmaelites. Whether they have conferred on this I know not.

Anyhow. I went to bed at 9.30 and slept 12 hours. I was drained.

I dreamt I changed jobs. I went to a rival outfit in the same town – the Oxford Insitute. The skinny Saffa who is the head honcho there welcomed me in his measured Capetonian cadences. I was sharing a house again with a Shrek-like moron. There was some dispute about who owned what in our one floor building. There was some speccy Arab chap there. There were outings by a clean canal. It was a confused situation. Had I actually defected to this other organisation or was I about to. How about money – would I get less. 

I awoke not sure whether I had indeed turned my coat. I feel not a job of loyalty to an organisation that has knife me many times. 

I do not intend to leave the contemptible organisation which employs me but if I were given the boot it would be a boon. I am past caring. 

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About Calers

Born Belfast 1971. I read history at Edinburgh. I did a Master's at UCL. I have semi-libertarian right wing opinions. I am married with a daughter and a son. I am allergic to cats. I am the falling hope of the not so stern and somewhat bending Tories. I am a legal beagle rather than and eagle. Big up the Commonwealth of Nations.

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