Can you tell? I've lost interest to the extent of not even writing about it anymore.
Last Wednesday I got very drunk at work and we made 24 quid tips each, 20 of that was some guy tipping my arse for being fit. I said thanks. The rest was Christmas parties who give loads at the end of the night even when we spend all night scowling at them. I don't mind big parties of people because they usually order whole rounds through one person so although it looks busy, we're not up to much.
I tried to do a day sober but it was too mind-numbing, so I got drunk. Then I called in sick because I fell off my bike and hurt my arm. Honest guv.
So anyway after a weekend getting thrown out of shit pubs (The Dove barman is a chump) and drinking ourselves ridiculous I thought I might just call it a day because minimum wage for working my bollox off and becoming an alcoholic isn't enough.
Instead the manager made me a firewarden and asked if I fancy being the day manager. In case you don't know the day manager is the person who gets there on time and makes sure everything runs smoothly during the day. Ideally suited to that role then, since my love of punctuality is well documented.
I said yes anyway and then I got a raise. A tiny tiny raise. I groaned when he said the most I could ever earn was fuck all, then he said if I want proper money I should work somewhere swanky, then he implored me to stay put.
I got shit-faced again on Tuesday and we made 18 quid tips each. Then yesterday I tried to stay sober because my liver is starting to shrivel, but it was too hard, I can't humour people when I'm sober, I can't do maths or remember orders or pull pints or smile, it's too hard and I don't like to fake it. So I thought fuck it if I have a drink things will speed up a bit, and within ten minutes a rum and coke and a mulled wine I had got tipped a tenner and perked right up.
Three nights in a row is killer though, and nocturnalism is setting in, the prospect of getting up at 10 tomorrow is well daunting.
I'm trying to instigate a pub staff dance routine for new year's eve but so far there aren't many takers.
Sigh.
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
bang, a decade's worth of shi(f)t later
I was right. It was awful. It goes to show - it's not what you earn, it's who you work with. I was working with B.O boy. Eww. He did not appreciate the cow-like game or even food charades. All he cares about is bands and songs and making a mess. He's a scruffy bugger and it transfers to everything he does, so he never puts anything away or wipes anything up. He's one of those sticky mitt people you find with their feet on the seats.
I think when bartending it's useful to be instinctively neat because the more symmetrical and tidy everything is, the easier it is to maneuver. That's an odd spelling.
Anyway yeah it was achingly dull, since I care very little about bands and songs and I care a lot about nonsense games that kill time.
I changed a barrel of Guinness and when I came back upstairs he had left the pump down and at least 6 pints of Guinness had poured over the bar. He apologised profusely but what good is that? I couldn't give a shit, I thought it was funny and anyway, it's not my Guinness, I just don't want to clean it up.
I did my first morning shift yesterday, started at 10.30, I guess that was shift 11 (also the time I actually started). I quite enjoyed it because there were no customers until 12 and you just have sandwiches and chat to the chefs and hang out (amongst other daunting tasks such as turning on the iPod and taking clingfilm off taps). I'm going to try and do more of them and less of the 2am finishes in the future.
Either that or get a proper job.
I think when bartending it's useful to be instinctively neat because the more symmetrical and tidy everything is, the easier it is to maneuver. That's an odd spelling.
Anyway yeah it was achingly dull, since I care very little about bands and songs and I care a lot about nonsense games that kill time.
I changed a barrel of Guinness and when I came back upstairs he had left the pump down and at least 6 pints of Guinness had poured over the bar. He apologised profusely but what good is that? I couldn't give a shit, I thought it was funny and anyway, it's not my Guinness, I just don't want to clean it up.
I did my first morning shift yesterday, started at 10.30, I guess that was shift 11 (also the time I actually started). I quite enjoyed it because there were no customers until 12 and you just have sandwiches and chat to the chefs and hang out (amongst other daunting tasks such as turning on the iPod and taking clingfilm off taps). I'm going to try and do more of them and less of the 2am finishes in the future.
Either that or get a proper job.
Monday, 7 December 2009
9 nein nine
Can't really lose count when there's a count on here. Can scroll down and find out. Maths genius at work again.
Actually my maths has improved, or at least now it's beneficially bad so I predict an amount and the till decides it's actually less and I stick the difference in the tip jar. Is that bad form? Maybe, but so is not tipping after a meal so it's swings and roundabouts if you ask me.
I was dreading yesterday so much it hurt, I got in a proper rage just before I left and got rained on to serve me right for taking it out on Josh when it's really not his fault. I was mainly pissed off because I did an extra shift last week and the boss guy said he would definitely get someone to cover my Sunday, I should have just played dumb and not text to find out if he had but I didn't and I did and he hadn't. In all honesty the only reason I couldn't do it was because I like Sundays for going for a roast and watching movies with Josh, and Batman Begins was on. It's a feeble excuse but seriously, I look forward to Sunday all week.
Anyway I marched into the pub in a right huff and scowled at all the bastards drinking in there. There was only one girl behind the bar, she's very nice, I've only worked with her once before and it was the morning after an awards ceremony so I was well worse for wear and we didn't really get to know each other.
She was in a bigger huff than me, she'd been there all day on her own and it was really busy. That sucks, it's hard when you're alone and it's quiet. She said 'if anyone crosses me right now it'll be... well... not good.' I felt better because at least she could get a break. Plus I think the more you are dreading it the less actually bloody awful it is when you get there.
So it was pretty much just the two of us behind the bar all night, after a couple of hours small talk it got really boring, so first up we played Food Charades, where you mime a food product and they have to guess what it is. She's rubbish at that though, didn't even get Yorkshire Pudding (although came pretty close with Muffin and then got stuck on sweets). Everyone gets Yorkshire Pudding - it's the training level.
Anyway that got old pretty soon so we played squiggles where you have to do some squiggles on a page and the other person has to make a picture out of it, hers was a really elaborate and quite impressive Santa and mine was Moby Dick.
We took a break for dinner.
Then we played the game where you take it in turns to write a paragraph of a story. We wrote a novella called Pulp Woodlands, with a rabbit and a caterpillar as the main protagonists looking for a gang of squirrels that make home-brew cider out of acorns in the park. It got too elaborate eventually and we couldn't remember who was who.
The last game we played was based on a classic quote from Team KB member Monika, I was telling the girl about a wedding we went to in the country, where Monika said 'there's a cow-like creature outside' I asked her to guess what it was and she couldn't, when I told her it was a horse she fell off the stool laughing. That gave way to the new game called, 'There's a cow-like creature outside'. It goes like this
Me: There's a cow-like creature outside but it doesn't have any legs
Her: Is it a snake?
Me: Yes
Her: There's a cow-like creature outside but it has long eyelashes
Me: Is it a goat?
Her: No it's got really knobbly knees
Me: Is it a Horse?
Her: No it's got little horns
Me: Is it a deer?
Her: No, it's more cow-like than a deer
I'll be honest that one foxed me (it wasn't a fox), if you know what it is why not get in touch? See, see how much fun the cow-like creature game is?
Anyway I suppose the icing on the new-best-friend-cake was right at the end when we were just hanging around waiting for everyone to clear off, she went to get her stuff from the staff room/disabled toilet/bag storage/games cupboard and when she emerged she was wearing a full Ghostbuster's outfit complete with Proton pack and boots. She shuffled people out dressed as Venkman. What a legend.
That is the thing about this shonky job, the people are wicked fun.
Although now I'm not really dreading tonight it'll probably be fucking awful.
Actually my maths has improved, or at least now it's beneficially bad so I predict an amount and the till decides it's actually less and I stick the difference in the tip jar. Is that bad form? Maybe, but so is not tipping after a meal so it's swings and roundabouts if you ask me.
I was dreading yesterday so much it hurt, I got in a proper rage just before I left and got rained on to serve me right for taking it out on Josh when it's really not his fault. I was mainly pissed off because I did an extra shift last week and the boss guy said he would definitely get someone to cover my Sunday, I should have just played dumb and not text to find out if he had but I didn't and I did and he hadn't. In all honesty the only reason I couldn't do it was because I like Sundays for going for a roast and watching movies with Josh, and Batman Begins was on. It's a feeble excuse but seriously, I look forward to Sunday all week.
Anyway I marched into the pub in a right huff and scowled at all the bastards drinking in there. There was only one girl behind the bar, she's very nice, I've only worked with her once before and it was the morning after an awards ceremony so I was well worse for wear and we didn't really get to know each other.
She was in a bigger huff than me, she'd been there all day on her own and it was really busy. That sucks, it's hard when you're alone and it's quiet. She said 'if anyone crosses me right now it'll be... well... not good.' I felt better because at least she could get a break. Plus I think the more you are dreading it the less actually bloody awful it is when you get there.
So it was pretty much just the two of us behind the bar all night, after a couple of hours small talk it got really boring, so first up we played Food Charades, where you mime a food product and they have to guess what it is. She's rubbish at that though, didn't even get Yorkshire Pudding (although came pretty close with Muffin and then got stuck on sweets). Everyone gets Yorkshire Pudding - it's the training level.
Anyway that got old pretty soon so we played squiggles where you have to do some squiggles on a page and the other person has to make a picture out of it, hers was a really elaborate and quite impressive Santa and mine was Moby Dick.
We took a break for dinner.
Then we played the game where you take it in turns to write a paragraph of a story. We wrote a novella called Pulp Woodlands, with a rabbit and a caterpillar as the main protagonists looking for a gang of squirrels that make home-brew cider out of acorns in the park. It got too elaborate eventually and we couldn't remember who was who.
The last game we played was based on a classic quote from Team KB member Monika, I was telling the girl about a wedding we went to in the country, where Monika said 'there's a cow-like creature outside' I asked her to guess what it was and she couldn't, when I told her it was a horse she fell off the stool laughing. That gave way to the new game called, 'There's a cow-like creature outside'. It goes like this
Me: There's a cow-like creature outside but it doesn't have any legs
Her: Is it a snake?
Me: Yes
Her: There's a cow-like creature outside but it has long eyelashes
Me: Is it a goat?
Her: No it's got really knobbly knees
Me: Is it a Horse?
Her: No it's got little horns
Me: Is it a deer?
Her: No, it's more cow-like than a deer
I'll be honest that one foxed me (it wasn't a fox), if you know what it is why not get in touch? See, see how much fun the cow-like creature game is?
Anyway I suppose the icing on the new-best-friend-cake was right at the end when we were just hanging around waiting for everyone to clear off, she went to get her stuff from the staff room/disabled toilet/bag storage/games cupboard and when she emerged she was wearing a full Ghostbuster's outfit complete with Proton pack and boots. She shuffled people out dressed as Venkman. What a legend.
That is the thing about this shonky job, the people are wicked fun.
Although now I'm not really dreading tonight it'll probably be fucking awful.
Sunday, 6 December 2009
lost count, last shift
The best thing was the first hour when I drank coffee and decorated the Christmas tree because the other girl was allergic and the guy hates Christmas, I don't hate Christmas. I hate working.
I dunno how long it's been exactly, but I can tell you that this is exactly how long my enthusiasm for jobs lasts. I've got to work Sunday night and then everynight next week until 1am. Epic yawnadelic.
I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go.
In other news, an ad agency I used to work for before I decided I don't want to write for money. Asked me to write their Christmas news letter thing for free. You know the only thing worse than working in advertising for a week's worth of pub cash per day?
Three guesses.
That guy that couldn't work the door is still making me chuckle though. Goon.
I dunno how long it's been exactly, but I can tell you that this is exactly how long my enthusiasm for jobs lasts. I've got to work Sunday night and then everynight next week until 1am. Epic yawnadelic.
I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go I don't wanna go.
In other news, an ad agency I used to work for before I decided I don't want to write for money. Asked me to write their Christmas news letter thing for free. You know the only thing worse than working in advertising for a week's worth of pub cash per day?
Three guesses.
That guy that couldn't work the door is still making me chuckle though. Goon.
Friday, 4 December 2009
Day 7 - has it only been a week's worth? Yeesh
Today begged the question - 'Why would someone who hates people get a job dealing with people?'
Drunk people to be precise. Drunk tight young smug people while I'm precising.
I hate people, I hate people as a concept and as a group and well, you get the gist.
When my dad asked me why I would want to take such an enormous step backwards, I said it was because behind a bar you can get your own back. As a cyclist, for example, if some car behaves like a dick, you can shout 'fuck you' all you want but they probably won't hear you, and if they do and they're a real cunt they can knock you off your bike. Bang. Done. I told my dad that aside from the exercise and the money saving tactic that is free beer, I wanted the opportunity to call a cunt a cunt and hit them where it hurts, right in the mouth. I remember(ed) bar tending as powerful, if you don't like someone you just don't get them beers. It's not true though. When they're horrible you get them their beer and you feel horrible because they are. So that's a downer. I hate people, they're horrible.
On the upside, these three guys said I was the only member of staff with any personality, itwas nice to hear but rude really because I like the people I work with.
The only other thing that made me laugh was a guy in a suit, a tall, bald guy in a sharp suit, marched up to the bar and said 'Is that actually the exit?!' pointing at the door. It was. 'Why the hell won't it open then?! I've been pulling it as hard as I can.'
'Have you tried pushing it?'
'PUSHING IT?'
'yeah'
'Well... No'
'Push it, it's a push door'
'THEN WHY ON EARTH DOES IT HAVE HANDLES?'
I couldn't answer the question, I didn't build the door, but when he stormed out and PUSHED the door open and marched off, all the people at the table next to the door cheered.
The end. Till twelve tomorrow. pfft.
...
Drunk people to be precise. Drunk tight young smug people while I'm precising.
I hate people, I hate people as a concept and as a group and well, you get the gist.
When my dad asked me why I would want to take such an enormous step backwards, I said it was because behind a bar you can get your own back. As a cyclist, for example, if some car behaves like a dick, you can shout 'fuck you' all you want but they probably won't hear you, and if they do and they're a real cunt they can knock you off your bike. Bang. Done. I told my dad that aside from the exercise and the money saving tactic that is free beer, I wanted the opportunity to call a cunt a cunt and hit them where it hurts, right in the mouth. I remember(ed) bar tending as powerful, if you don't like someone you just don't get them beers. It's not true though. When they're horrible you get them their beer and you feel horrible because they are. So that's a downer. I hate people, they're horrible.
On the upside, these three guys said I was the only member of staff with any personality, itwas nice to hear but rude really because I like the people I work with.
The only other thing that made me laugh was a guy in a suit, a tall, bald guy in a sharp suit, marched up to the bar and said 'Is that actually the exit?!' pointing at the door. It was. 'Why the hell won't it open then?! I've been pulling it as hard as I can.'
'Have you tried pushing it?'
'PUSHING IT?'
'yeah'
'Well... No'
'Push it, it's a push door'
'THEN WHY ON EARTH DOES IT HAVE HANDLES?'
I couldn't answer the question, I didn't build the door, but when he stormed out and PUSHED the door open and marched off, all the people at the table next to the door cheered.
The end. Till twelve tomorrow. pfft.
...
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Spot the deliberate mistake...
JOGGING BOTTOMS SET TO BE A FASHION MUST-HAVE FOR 2010!
The jogging bottom - which is traditionally worn in the gym - has now taken pride of place in a woman’s wardrobe, according to new figures released by fashion store Debenhams.
A spin job for your gym kit? PR wonders will, regrettably, never cease
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
Shift 6 revisited
Mo was really nice. He was managing and there were only a couple of us. It was fun. His iPod is miles better than the other ones. We had a lock in and everything.
So either my shitfaced warped reality (highly likely as when I recounted the details he looked totally bemused, and the guy snogging some chick in the doorway was definitely not him and was just some random), or else spraying cleaner in a bastards face gets them off your case. Like punching the bully at little school and finding out he's a nice guy underneath but his uncle beats him and he takes out his frustration on younger kids but doesn't mean it really. (that's never happened to me, I think it was Grange Hill).
In other news, a guy asked for a glass of milk to take home, and then bitched about the price of a shandy (£3.50) even though he'd been drinking it all night and not said a word. I was like, you got free milk and a glass to take home bollock chops, step off.
People don't like it when you sneeze over their pints, but you probably knew that already.
Two French people came in and tried gravy for the first time. When they asked me what it was I said it's like thick-flavoured meat juice. They also wanted to know what Mash was. I said it was potatoes that had a fight with a stick. I said together they were and institution and not to be missed. They had it with pies. They knew what pies were. They liked it.
Someone else ordered an apple crumble, it comes splattered on a little plate with custard draped round it in a circle and raspberry jelly garnish. It's well funny. The people didn't eat it all.
Nobody tips in pubs, even when they've had really good service and a three course meal. Fuckers.
Everyone thought my Nice Tips T-shirt was a good idea, except the manager who thought I said Nice Tits, idiot, that's not funny.
So either my shitfaced warped reality (highly likely as when I recounted the details he looked totally bemused, and the guy snogging some chick in the doorway was definitely not him and was just some random), or else spraying cleaner in a bastards face gets them off your case. Like punching the bully at little school and finding out he's a nice guy underneath but his uncle beats him and he takes out his frustration on younger kids but doesn't mean it really. (that's never happened to me, I think it was Grange Hill).
In other news, a guy asked for a glass of milk to take home, and then bitched about the price of a shandy (£3.50) even though he'd been drinking it all night and not said a word. I was like, you got free milk and a glass to take home bollock chops, step off.
People don't like it when you sneeze over their pints, but you probably knew that already.
Two French people came in and tried gravy for the first time. When they asked me what it was I said it's like thick-flavoured meat juice. They also wanted to know what Mash was. I said it was potatoes that had a fight with a stick. I said together they were and institution and not to be missed. They had it with pies. They knew what pies were. They liked it.
Someone else ordered an apple crumble, it comes splattered on a little plate with custard draped round it in a circle and raspberry jelly garnish. It's well funny. The people didn't eat it all.
Nobody tips in pubs, even when they've had really good service and a three course meal. Fuckers.
Everyone thought my Nice Tips T-shirt was a good idea, except the manager who thought I said Nice Tits, idiot, that's not funny.
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
4, 5 and 6
Gah bloody fucking shifts, now all I do when I'm not at work is dread going to work. And how, why, what the hell happened, to make me say, 'yeah, I can do New Year', double pay you say, let's do the maths - I'll make at least Fuck All instead of the absolutely Fuck All I make on a normal day.
So now I'm a seasoned pro (tabasco, salt, worcester sauce) I've noticed they play the same soundtrack every night. All of them. Gets a bit dull after a while, a short, short while.
I did my first double shift yesterday. Yikes that's lonnnnng. Nothing good happens between 3 and 5.30 except some standing, if you like standing you would love this job. Me, I've always been pro-horizontal but beggars choosing and all that.
I'm avoiding the real thing that happened because I'm a bit ashamed but here goes.
So there's this guy, let's call him Mo because he has the worst Movember tash on record.
Mo's an Aussie, he's a big curly Aussie and he's been busting my chops since day 1. He decided to call me V-plates because of a bloody Mary conversation that his dad-joking turned into me being a virgin. Hysterical. Then he found out I'm 28 and decided it was hilarious to bust my aged chops about my that. Again, the hilarity was palpable. Finally he decided to make fun of my being a bit of a stink. In his defense, I wasn't too fresh that night but it was my t-shirt and not bad hygiene. Honest guv.
I turned up to the shift off my face, a business lunch poured a bottle of wine in my face and a couple of gins later I was well away. Then they made the managerial error of putting me on the downstairs bar by myself. Uh oh.
It was a DJ night run by these old guys, I was texting Josh between rounds (rounds of Tuaca, between me and me and that girl on the bar, me) 'I'm gonna buy a place on Shitfaced alley' for example.
Anyway by the end of the night I was truly wankered, fine style, and Mo comes down to mock my pits and generally make fun. Then he goes 'don't you think we'd be like, real good friends in real life?'
Nup.
I say 'I've got enough friends thanks' (too many actually if you consider how much I hate socialising) and he flies off the handle, he hates people who say that (hears it a lot no doubt).
He hangs around while I'm cleaning, and well, to cut to the chase, I was wiping the bar and he said something and I had a spray bottle in my hand and squirted it pretty much directly in his face.
Eek.
You know when you're shitfaced and you do something without thinking and then you realise you probably shouldn't have done that. It's quite sobering isn't it? It is. So I immediately apologise and that but he just grabs his chops and goes upstairs and tells everyone that I sprayed kitchen cleaner in his face, and I guess that I'm basically nuts because when I went back upstairs everyone looked at me like I was nuts. Gah.
He won't talk to me so I wobble over to the girl behind the bar and ask if he's alright, she's like, yeah but you should apologise because that's well out of line, and I say I know, and I tried but I'll try again. So I go over to him and, to be honest I don't know what I said but it was definitely something apology based. He wouldn't go for it anyway so I left.
By the time I got my stuff together he was snogging some drunk bird in the doorway so it can't have been that bad. Anyway yeah I was irked because it's shit when someone won't let you apologise so I just fucked off without saying anything. Hopefully it wasn't a big deal because I've been back and nobody mentioned it but I haven't seen anyone who was there on the night so I can't tell.
Tonight is his last night and I am working as well. Maybe he'll be a man about it and it'll be water under the bridge but considering his capacity for chop-busting dad-joke nonsense I'm guessing he's gonna make me feel shit all night, he'll be really officious and cunty to me but nice to everyone else. That's my educated guess. But we'll see.
Actually we'll see right now, got to go listen to the same soundtrack again.
Oh, after thought. I might make a t-shirt that says NICE TIPS. Is that funny or lame?
You decide.
So now I'm a seasoned pro (tabasco, salt, worcester sauce) I've noticed they play the same soundtrack every night. All of them. Gets a bit dull after a while, a short, short while.
I did my first double shift yesterday. Yikes that's lonnnnng. Nothing good happens between 3 and 5.30 except some standing, if you like standing you would love this job. Me, I've always been pro-horizontal but beggars choosing and all that.
I'm avoiding the real thing that happened because I'm a bit ashamed but here goes.
So there's this guy, let's call him Mo because he has the worst Movember tash on record.
Mo's an Aussie, he's a big curly Aussie and he's been busting my chops since day 1. He decided to call me V-plates because of a bloody Mary conversation that his dad-joking turned into me being a virgin. Hysterical. Then he found out I'm 28 and decided it was hilarious to bust my aged chops about my that. Again, the hilarity was palpable. Finally he decided to make fun of my being a bit of a stink. In his defense, I wasn't too fresh that night but it was my t-shirt and not bad hygiene. Honest guv.
I turned up to the shift off my face, a business lunch poured a bottle of wine in my face and a couple of gins later I was well away. Then they made the managerial error of putting me on the downstairs bar by myself. Uh oh.
It was a DJ night run by these old guys, I was texting Josh between rounds (rounds of Tuaca, between me and me and that girl on the bar, me) 'I'm gonna buy a place on Shitfaced alley' for example.
Anyway by the end of the night I was truly wankered, fine style, and Mo comes down to mock my pits and generally make fun. Then he goes 'don't you think we'd be like, real good friends in real life?'
Nup.
I say 'I've got enough friends thanks' (too many actually if you consider how much I hate socialising) and he flies off the handle, he hates people who say that (hears it a lot no doubt).
He hangs around while I'm cleaning, and well, to cut to the chase, I was wiping the bar and he said something and I had a spray bottle in my hand and squirted it pretty much directly in his face.
Eek.
You know when you're shitfaced and you do something without thinking and then you realise you probably shouldn't have done that. It's quite sobering isn't it? It is. So I immediately apologise and that but he just grabs his chops and goes upstairs and tells everyone that I sprayed kitchen cleaner in his face, and I guess that I'm basically nuts because when I went back upstairs everyone looked at me like I was nuts. Gah.
He won't talk to me so I wobble over to the girl behind the bar and ask if he's alright, she's like, yeah but you should apologise because that's well out of line, and I say I know, and I tried but I'll try again. So I go over to him and, to be honest I don't know what I said but it was definitely something apology based. He wouldn't go for it anyway so I left.
By the time I got my stuff together he was snogging some drunk bird in the doorway so it can't have been that bad. Anyway yeah I was irked because it's shit when someone won't let you apologise so I just fucked off without saying anything. Hopefully it wasn't a big deal because I've been back and nobody mentioned it but I haven't seen anyone who was there on the night so I can't tell.
Tonight is his last night and I am working as well. Maybe he'll be a man about it and it'll be water under the bridge but considering his capacity for chop-busting dad-joke nonsense I'm guessing he's gonna make me feel shit all night, he'll be really officious and cunty to me but nice to everyone else. That's my educated guess. But we'll see.
Actually we'll see right now, got to go listen to the same soundtrack again.
Oh, after thought. I might make a t-shirt that says NICE TIPS. Is that funny or lame?
You decide.
This is why Hilary Hazard is not allowed out...
We like opportunities for publicity, especially in the national news, we need them, so that people hear about KB. For some reason I can't fathom, people are forever contacting Hilary Hazard and not me, the editor.
Sometimes I think Hazard should actually go on the telly box and radio and such, and then she replies to a journalist from the Independent, at 2 in the morning while shitfaced, and makes me realise why she can't.
From The Independent
Hi Hilary,
If you see this could you give me a ring please? Or let me know how I could ring you?
Am doing a piece for Sunday's paper about how feminism is having a resurgence and would love to hear a bit more about KnockBack, plus your views more generally.
Many thanks, Susie
Susie
News
The Independent on Sunday,
2 Derry Street,
London, W8 5HF
**Please note, I only work Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays**
From Hilary Hazard at 2.37 am
Hi Susie. I'm not allowed out in public but I double dare you to ring Marie Berry on a Thursday, Friday or Saturday double stars each side. plus two fours and all that.
Berry and I share very similar views.
Love ya lots
Hilary Hazard
knockback with capitals and stuff
Needless to say she didn't get in touch.
Hilary Hazn'tard
Sometimes I think Hazard should actually go on the telly box and radio and such, and then she replies to a journalist from the Independent, at 2 in the morning while shitfaced, and makes me realise why she can't.
From The Independent
Hi Hilary,
If you see this could you give me a ring please? Or let me know how I could ring you?
Am doing a piece for Sunday's paper about how feminism is having a resurgence and would love to hear a bit more about KnockBack, plus your views more generally.
Many thanks, Susie
Susie
News
The Independent on Sunday,
2 Derry Street,
London, W8 5HF
**Please note, I only work Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays**
From Hilary Hazard at 2.37 am
Hi Susie. I'm not allowed out in public but I double dare you to ring Marie Berry on a Thursday, Friday or Saturday double stars each side. plus two fours and all that.
Berry and I share very similar views.
Love ya lots
Hilary Hazard
knockback with capitals and stuff
Needless to say she didn't get in touch.
Hilary Hazn'tard
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