Got in late because I was waiting for a pipe to be fixed by a member of the working class. Talk about a contradiction in terms. The working class are people who are too lazy to get into the middle class. This plumber has a higher daily rate than Sir Marcus, plus he had the cheek to tell me he didn't have the right part and would have to come back tomorrow. How can he not have the right part when he's got a van the size of Cyprus piled high with pipes. But good news in the office. Our weirdo HR director Giles Renton-Willets has been moved sideways Apparently, we've now got an Organisational Development Director, whatever the hell that is. Bill tells me it's basically someone who's OD'd on HR.
Got in late because I wanted to make sure Newby the plumber wasn't connecting my water mains directly to my electricity supply. He said he'd got the part but it was the wrong part. Wouldn't take much to retrain him for a senior position in IT. Slagged off the working class to Hayley until she reminded me that her boyfriend was a plasterer. You have to be careful with secretaries as they're basically the working class in knickers. Bumped into our new OD director, Madeleine Rose. Quite a tidy little piece, although her top half could have done with some more organisational development. After work, went to gym with Howard. I've employed a personal trainer. He does a lot of hard work in the gym while I watch him from the bar.
Waited two hours for the plumber to turn up and found him in his Transit eating his sandwiches and studying the form in the Sun. He looked me straight in the eye and told me he was waiting for paint to dry. I revised my opinion of him. He could be a contender for Bill's job. Got into work just in time to be hit by shocking news. Madeleine 'Name of the' Rose has decided Smokehouse needs a creche. Bill and I got down to Mr Bojangles sharpish to work out the implications of all this. We had something to eat, watched the cricket and tidied up a few bottles of red and wondered why we needed a place for babies to sit around feeding, drinking and doing nothing.
Newby arrived on time. I asked him why this miracle had occurred and he said he had to leave early for another job. Some other poor sod's probably been waiting for him since breakfast. Was in the process of clearing my desk for lunch (which generally involves one sweeping arm movement) when I saw an internal memo from Mad Rose. She suggested directors cancel golf club membership to pay for the creche. That's a complete non-starter because membership is worth a good few grand, especially when you rent it out to other people and pocket the cash. Had another long strategic lunch with Bill at Mr Bojangles about the whole creche/golf clash of civilisations. Bill said if women can bring their children to work then why can't we bring our lawnmowers. At the time it seemed a powerful point but I couldn't bring myself to raise it with Mateus Rose.
The Mad Hatter showed the board her plans for the Smokehouse Creche. Bill said it should be called Little Kippers, which was greeted with total silence. There was one room which was going to be chock-full of balls. I asked whether that was the HR department. Maddy replied that I clearly had a lot of personal development needs, which everyone knows is HR shorthand for me being a complete tosser. Got in touch with the golf club secretary, who said they had a few people desperate to join, including a plumber called Newby who was willing to pay top whack. I thought of a high number and then trebled it. Besides which, if the working class are going to be clogging up the golf course it's time for me to take up darts.