RETURN TO MEETING HELL
After a few months away while I found myself on pills for me nerves as a result of non-stop meetings, I am suddenly once more emerged in agendas, minutes and the painful, screaming deaths of my former colleagues.
On the bright side, their deaths are not in vain, providing - as they do - much chortlesome material for these pages.
So, after a mere fifteen minutes we reach the end of the agenda, and hopes are raised that we can get out of the meeting room before the canteen closes for its lunch break. Then, the dread words: "Any Questions?"
An hour later, the will to live is well and truly lost, and a shopping list is drawn up containing the words "shovel", "tin bath" and "two hundredweight of quicklime".
It is not the questions one minds if they are actually relevant, but they are not. They are simply questions posed by people who cannot stop asking questions, redolent of trying to watch a football match with a small child:
"Dad - Has anyone ever kicked a football and it's hit a pigeon?"
"Dad - Has anyone ever kicked a football and it's hit a man in the crowd?"
"Dad - Has anyone ever kicked a football and it's hit a dog?"
"Dad - Has anyone ever kicked a football…"
And then: "And we'll all meet again at nine-thirty tomorrow morning and start with a short team-building exercise."
I have a question: "Can I turn up at ten, please?"