Some people haven’t got the manners they were born with…

Scrub that.

A lot of people haven’t got the manners they were born with. When that means you lack the simple courtesy of a squawking, wailing bundle of uncontrollable shit and piss, well that’s some achievement.

Courtesy has gone the same way as respect – a word, incidentally, that some brain donors think can only be gained by putting a bullet in somebody else’s head.

Jeffman promised sour grapes last weekend, and it’s a rather toxic looking bunch of sour grapes that he delivers.

Tickled your fancy? Read on…

What follows is a cautionary tale on the dangers of a day’s work.

I’m sure there are as many satisfying jobs as there are satisfied jobees (made up word). One man’s shit-shoveller is another man’s “outdoor work, tools provided”. Unfortunately I’m not one of these jobees, nor have I been thus far in my illustrious career.

Without going into too much detail, my present occupation (in the Germany over France sense of the word) involves me staring at a wall for eight hours of the day, and making the occasional note on a computer should said wall show any sign of changing colour.

I assume it’s a very similar occupation to the one of watching paint dry, only minus the sense of satisfaction (my wall’s already dry). Therefore it’s an ongoing process without an achievable conclusion. There’s no ’scuse me whilst I kiss the sky’ moment for me. Just the same nut-numbing process day in, day out.

Suffice to say that Jeffman is making plans to extricate himself from such a terrible fate and possibly enter the realms of those that are satisfied with their lot in life. A satisfied jobee.

But until that fine day arrives I hang on by the teeth, to the extent that boredom threatens to place your favourite scribe into one of those comas you hear so much about.

Tickled your fancy? Read on…