Could I be the only person who does TOIL in reverse, working extra to make up for less than productive working hours?
Do you know, it’s possible to not be on either side.
Don’t ask me to take a stand. I don’t have to.
Two wrongs don’t make a right.
Waking from a night stifled by memories, I interrogate myself:
“How on earth did you arrive at such positive opinions of all involved?”
In truth, all that I subsequently imagined was quite preposterous.
But such is the heart, rendering us blind to what we do not wish to see.
Looking back, I now remember every unpleasant moment that undermined me.
It’s laughable that I responded to my eyes but disbelieved my ears.
What a joke I was then, and always, with that skeletal frame, arms sheeved, face of a nerd.
Of course, of course, I now see what everyone else saw. Which once again begs the question:
“How on earth did you arrive at such positive opinions of all involved?”
We walk similar paths.
Watch as the oligarchs strip out every safety net and protection for the poor while enriching themselves with government contracts, subsidies, and deregulation, which benefits them directly.
“We the people,” they chant, as they pull the rug out from under them.
Socialism for the rich, capitalism for the poor.
Today, I’ve been playing piggy in the middle.
Between the non-technical technical project manager in the technical team and the non-technical head of delivery with the supplier.
At the mention of our content security policy, both sides draw a blank. Perhaps it’s the first time any of the supplier’s customers have had one.
I’m the tech nerd in the middle, grasping for the ball flying backwards and forwards between us, awkwardly waving requirements in front of anyone who might listen.
It’s amusing that some senior bods might consider my role redundant, easily outsourced to some third-party supplier. Unfortunately, these senior folk don’t know what they don’t know.
It takes a tech nerd playing piggy in the middle to expose that.
I feel sorry for non-Muslims assuming they will find united Muslims in mosques, striving for the better good.
How would you know from the outside that the local mosque is only there for a particular clan that lives on one side of the river in a village 6000 miles away, and can’t even accomodate the clan from the other side of the river, let alone outsiders?
I wish you well in your search for guidance.
Currently, our lad thinks he will work in construction. I’m not discouraging him.
An NVQ in bricklaying could be good for him. An apprenticeship in plumbing worthwhile.
Why not embrace an in-demand trade, unlikely to be made redundant by AI?
I can already see my own job being replaced by an algorithm within a decade.
So, too, project managers, accountants, editors, marketing, tech support, process engineers.
A few bodies will still be required to drive the AI, but not a lot.
While it’s probably true that some large construction firms will inevitably invest in robotic bricklaying machines, I don’t see that as a widespread threat in the UK.
Given the labour and skills shortage in the construction industry at a time of heightened demand, seeking to work in this sector would seem a sensible avenue to me.
But, of course, I must not encourage him too much, for he thinks he’s playing opposites. Whatever we think is a good idea, he must shun. Nothing worse than a parent embracing your rebellion!
We will lose our best people because we refuse to either promote them or pay a living wage.
Insult added to injury when they see they are doing far more work to a higher standard than those on higher grades.
And this too is true, for the skills deficit and reluctance to learn is a source of daily consternation.
But what can we do, for our hands are tied from above, by a board which refuses to fund any role, and has further cuts in its sights?
Who knows if any of us will survive the coming purge? Any but the disgruntled workers on the lowest bands doing more and more for less and less.
Why do I write so much? Because when I speak, I constantly get cut off before I can even finish my sentence. At least when I write, I can fully articulate my thoughts. Whether anyone is interested is another matter altogether.
Oh, marvellous progress! Oh, civil delight!
Behold where the viaduct pierces the light!
No Tudor, no timber, no mellow red brick—
Just weather-worn steel in a shade of old sick.
Farewell to the Chilterns, their valleys and streams,
Replaced by this marvel of high-speeding dreams.
A rust-coated ribbon, so brutal, so tall,
A triumph of function! A curse upon all.
No craftsman’s proud chiselling, no arching embrace,
No whisper of beauty to soften the place—
Just columns like tombstones that loom and decay,
While commuters speed soullessly, whizzing away.
Oh, Wendover weeps, but the planners proclaim:
“A landmark! A vision! You’ll soon love the frame!”
Yet up on the hillside, the red kites still cry,
As Corten steel mockery splits up the sky.
Our intelligence services lied? Whoever would have thought it!
As for the BBC: I’m sure they know of many agent provocateurs posing as extremists.
But, alas, we must kowtow to the thirty-year rule and play along.
Nothing to see here. Move on.
“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
Running a B&B on the side of a mountain.
Momentarily, I convinced myself I could be someone.
Then reality intervened and reminded me no, no I couldn’t.
There I was, thinking I have leadership potential.
I know my stuff, I’m competent, I have influence.
Ah, but only from behind my keyboard, working quietly away in the background.
But to emerge and stand before a group? To speak up and make myself heard?
Reality reminds me I’m a joke, no different from that boy at school, forever derided.
Honestly, I feel completely deflated, crashing back down to earth with a thud.
