Crazy Horse

Crazy Horse is definitely not a Monday person. It has to be said that he's not much of a Tuesday or a Wednesday person either. And on Thursday and Friday it's best if approaches to him are confined to the pm and then only with good news. Even on his best days he behaves like a football manager on the receiving end of a dubious offside. He is practically Neanderthal in his attitude to man management. In the past he has been heard to declare that he is 'no bedfellow to this modern employment law piffle.' This is not a comment one would normally expect to hear from a Human Resources manager, but that's Crazy Horse for you, he considers anyone to the political left of Margaret Thatcher to be party to the 'looney liberal pc conspiracy.' One only has to mention the words European Union within earshot to sent him reaching for his diazepam. He is a constant torment to everyone in the office. Yesterday morning, as soon as he had finished grazing on his breakfast croissant, he barged out of his office and stood glaring at us. It is best to ignore him as much as possible in such circumstances and hope that he goes away, unfortunately this seldom works. When he had finished dusting the croissant crumbs from his shirt all over Bishop's desk he launched into one of his customary tirades. It seems he has declared war against inefficiency and idle malingering, thankfully nobody was mentioned by name. The only things of substance contained within his tedious lecture are, that there is going to be a reorganisation, hence my move to work alongside the imbecilic Bishop, and that we are to have a new member of staff. Bishop of all people! Even Mrs C put aside her own worries over the changes to sympathise with me.

Bishop2

My second tentative venture in blogging. What has happened to the first god only knows, lost by my technological incompetence or deleted as abusive. Although anyone with even a passing aquaintance of the buffoon Bishop could only have applauded my restraint. With all the vast choice of subject matter available to me, with the expanse of all human emotions, problems, hopes and fears on which to expound only one subject occupies my mind; and that is Bishop. Gock eyed little geek. I swear I have no idea what goes on in Bishop's misshaped head. One can only assume that years of sci-fi fanaticism has finally taken its toll. Perhaps the odious aftershave that he coats his face in, and that wafts about his desk has finally corroded his brain. If I were to compile a dictionary, for my definition of the word pedantic I would simply write Bishop's name and then include his mobile number. For the word arse I would just put his web address. He has the social skills of a clay head. And now, as if it was not persecution enough to have to work in the same office as him, Crazy Horse has decided that we are to share a desk. I am heading to the nut ward for sure.

Bishop