Thursday, April 27, 2006
Little Fluffy Clouds
Neil, my former team leader, spent this morning bicycling around and around the building dressed as an 18th Century country parson. It was a lovely day for a spot of it.
On his handlebars there was a wicker basket full of kittens looking cross-eyed and dizzy, as if they’d been forced to read Jeffrey Archer.
As lunchtime approached, the tannoy crackled and popped into life. It was Neil.
“Bing bong. Would anybody like to see some kittens?” - and all or nearly all of the women in the office said “Ooooh! Kittens!” and rushed out to take a peek.
Once they’d cleared the building, Neil came into our room rubbing his hands and said, “Quick lads. While they’re distracted, let’s sneak into the girl’s dormitories and apple pie their beds.”
There weren’t any takers.
Undejected, he asked “What were the skies like when you were young?” and before anybody could answer “They went on for forever, we lived in Arizona and the skies always had little fluffy clouds. They were long and clear and there were lots of stars at night,” he was slapping his arse and saying “Buns of steel, lads! Look at them! Buns of steel.”
Only Charlotte, Bill Surname CEO’s loyal PA, remained at her post.
Poor Charlotte, it’s a difficult time for her: frumpy, frantic and lonely as hell, and now the only man she’s ever loved says we have to tighten our belts, I want you to impose stringent stationery rationing as of yesterday, and biscuits? Biscuits from now on are for directors only, no exceptions. If I find crumbs I’m holding you responsible, and she’s too frightened and ashamed to reveal to him her true feelings. A woman has wants and needs that go beyond crumb prevention.
Creepy Keith from Accounts, sensitive as a shotgun wound, smirked like the cat that got the cream, swinging from room to room, Tarzan in Oxford brogues, beating his chest and bellowing, “I’m the King Of The Fucking Jungle! Biscuits! That was my fucking idea! All fucking mine!”
On his handlebars there was a wicker basket full of kittens looking cross-eyed and dizzy, as if they’d been forced to read Jeffrey Archer.
As lunchtime approached, the tannoy crackled and popped into life. It was Neil.
“Bing bong. Would anybody like to see some kittens?” - and all or nearly all of the women in the office said “Ooooh! Kittens!” and rushed out to take a peek.
Once they’d cleared the building, Neil came into our room rubbing his hands and said, “Quick lads. While they’re distracted, let’s sneak into the girl’s dormitories and apple pie their beds.”
There weren’t any takers.
Undejected, he asked “What were the skies like when you were young?” and before anybody could answer “They went on for forever, we lived in Arizona and the skies always had little fluffy clouds. They were long and clear and there were lots of stars at night,” he was slapping his arse and saying “Buns of steel, lads! Look at them! Buns of steel.”
Only Charlotte, Bill Surname CEO’s loyal PA, remained at her post.
Poor Charlotte, it’s a difficult time for her: frumpy, frantic and lonely as hell, and now the only man she’s ever loved says we have to tighten our belts, I want you to impose stringent stationery rationing as of yesterday, and biscuits? Biscuits from now on are for directors only, no exceptions. If I find crumbs I’m holding you responsible, and she’s too frightened and ashamed to reveal to him her true feelings. A woman has wants and needs that go beyond crumb prevention.
Creepy Keith from Accounts, sensitive as a shotgun wound, smirked like the cat that got the cream, swinging from room to room, Tarzan in Oxford brogues, beating his chest and bellowing, “I’m the King Of The Fucking Jungle! Biscuits! That was my fucking idea! All fucking mine!”

It kind of goes without saying, but this is my blog. I own it. Slightly daft MP3 disclaimer: All MP3's are posted here for a limited time only. Music is not posted here with the intention to profit or violate copyright. In the unlikely event that you are the creator or copyright owner of a song published on this site and you want it to be removed, let me know.