I have to say, darling ones, I somewhat let meself down today.
You see, I'm very good around the dinner table. I don't beg for food (much). Oh, I do the ol' sad eyed stare and the hope that a tasty morsel might be slipped my way.
It never is, by the way. Slipped, that is. My way.
Nor, if food is left out, do I succumb like some of me weaker willed brethren and feel the need to steal from work tops and the such like.
Well trained and well behaved. That's your wonderful Barns.
But today, I just couldn't help it.
I'd taken me human, Dick Stupid, to Pets At Home to buy me some victuals... you know: biscuits and treats and that sort of thing.
He'd just got his credit card into the machine ready to pay when he happened to glance in my direction. Just as I'd nicked a pigs ear from the bucket next to the checkout. I mean, it's outrageous that they put that sort of thing next to the tills... it's just encouraging a dog like me to misbehave.
But not to worry... there were a couple of very sensible ladies in the queue just behind Dickie-do-dah who seemed to take a shine to me:
'Ahhhh...' (they said in unison) 'That's a shame. He couldn't resist it. Bless him. He's so gorgeous, let him have the ear.'
So Dick hands over the extra 99p and I got to keep the ear. And quite right, too. After all, the pig didn't need it any more.
I'm not sure if there's a moral to this story?
I dunno:
Don't steal pigs ears, maybe.
Or:
If you are going to steal pigs ears, make sure there are two ladies who can smooth over the indiscretion in close vicinity.
No, it's none of those. It's:
Be good... and if you can't be good, be careful.
I'll be more careful next time.
After all, you can't be good all the time!
Wednesday 10 December 2014
Thursday 13 November 2014
Almost Christmas
I don't know about you but I'm sufferin'(yes, sufferin') from a dichotomy of feelings about the festive season.
On the one hand Nic'la from the office is so excited it's become infectious.
In fact, she loves Christmas so much Uncle Dick put her in charge of decorations and the general ambience in the ol' place throughout December.
Of course, her first question was: 'How much can I spend?'
'Oh, I was thinking about £100 on decorations,' says Dickie Boy.
The next thing he knows Nic'la has sent him a link to a specialist Christmas Tree website requesting that he purchase an 8 foot pine effect Christmas Tree... for £116.99.
'But, but, but...' splutters Dick. 'That's over your budget!'
'No, no, no,' responds Nic'la. You said I could have £100 on decorations. The tree is not part of the decorations; the decorations hang on the tree.'
There was no escaping the logic so Dick orders the tree. But he gets his own back a bit. He's ordered the tree to turn up at Nic'la's home. She lives in Dunbar and gets the train into work every day!
So, we're well and truly in the build up to Christmas in the office which is good. I feel quite festive.
But the other side of my particular dichotomy is that it's so bloomin' warm. And I'm wearing a fur coat in case you hadn't noticed.
Not that that's possible, of course... not noticing me and my magnificent pelt.
A couple of weeks ago I overheard Renee telling Dick Numpty that it was going to be a long, hard and cold winter. With snow, ice and freezing conditions from start to finish.
And that would have been fine. I don't mind that... you kind of expect it living up here in the wilds of the North. And it's only right and proper over Christmas... log fires, long walks and all that.
But this warmth.
It just ain't right.
The leaves aren't off the trees yet and Dick Dumbo is too hot in his human coat when we walk to work in the mornings.
In short - I'm confused and I don't like it.
Dick tried to make a business simile from my misery which I think is just a little self indulgent and quite a lot of a liberty.
He reckons that if your customers don't know what to expect they'll get the hump like what I've got.
The problem is, like me, they have expectations whether you set those expectations or not. I expect winter to be cold and I already feel short changed. Why do I expect winter to be cold? Because it has been in previous years, of course.
So, if your customers have received one level of service, they'll expect it again... unless you actually tell 'em things have changed. They'll have expectations based on what's happened in the past.
So, to make sure your customers' expectations actually match what you can deliver you have to tell 'em. And then tell 'em again what you're going to do. And then you go out and beat those expectations so your customers are really happy. There you are... Barney's Business Advice.
More importantly, though, I would give real money to see Nic'la on the train from Dunbar with an 8 foot real effect pine tree under her arm.
On the one hand Nic'la from the office is so excited it's become infectious.
In fact, she loves Christmas so much Uncle Dick put her in charge of decorations and the general ambience in the ol' place throughout December.
Of course, her first question was: 'How much can I spend?'
'Oh, I was thinking about £100 on decorations,' says Dickie Boy.
The next thing he knows Nic'la has sent him a link to a specialist Christmas Tree website requesting that he purchase an 8 foot pine effect Christmas Tree... for £116.99.
'But, but, but...' splutters Dick. 'That's over your budget!'
'No, no, no,' responds Nic'la. You said I could have £100 on decorations. The tree is not part of the decorations; the decorations hang on the tree.'
There was no escaping the logic so Dick orders the tree. But he gets his own back a bit. He's ordered the tree to turn up at Nic'la's home. She lives in Dunbar and gets the train into work every day!
So, we're well and truly in the build up to Christmas in the office which is good. I feel quite festive.
But the other side of my particular dichotomy is that it's so bloomin' warm. And I'm wearing a fur coat in case you hadn't noticed.
Not that that's possible, of course... not noticing me and my magnificent pelt.
A couple of weeks ago I overheard Renee telling Dick Numpty that it was going to be a long, hard and cold winter. With snow, ice and freezing conditions from start to finish.
And that would have been fine. I don't mind that... you kind of expect it living up here in the wilds of the North. And it's only right and proper over Christmas... log fires, long walks and all that.
But this warmth.
It just ain't right.
The leaves aren't off the trees yet and Dick Dumbo is too hot in his human coat when we walk to work in the mornings.
In short - I'm confused and I don't like it.
Dick tried to make a business simile from my misery which I think is just a little self indulgent and quite a lot of a liberty.
He reckons that if your customers don't know what to expect they'll get the hump like what I've got.
The problem is, like me, they have expectations whether you set those expectations or not. I expect winter to be cold and I already feel short changed. Why do I expect winter to be cold? Because it has been in previous years, of course.
So, if your customers have received one level of service, they'll expect it again... unless you actually tell 'em things have changed. They'll have expectations based on what's happened in the past.
So, to make sure your customers' expectations actually match what you can deliver you have to tell 'em. And then tell 'em again what you're going to do. And then you go out and beat those expectations so your customers are really happy. There you are... Barney's Business Advice.
More importantly, though, I would give real money to see Nic'la on the train from Dunbar with an 8 foot real effect pine tree under her arm.
Tuesday 4 November 2014
Uncle Dick
Now I have to say I quite often write about me human Dickie Boy and I'm often quite disparaging (yes, disparaging) about him.
He's a nice enough old cove if a bit of a muppet from time to time.
But me other human, Renee does insist on calling him Barney's Dad... at which point Dick always says 'I'm not his Dad, I'm his master!'
As if!
In that sentence the Dickster has actually managed to excel himself by being at least 50% right.
He is correct in saying that he's not me Dad and I'm quite relieved about it. I mean, he's got no fur to speak of (apart from a light covering on his chest), he's only got two legs, no tail, his nose ain't wet, his tongue doesn't loll (except sometimes after about 10.30 on a Friday night after a particularly hard week), he doesn't sleep enough, doesn't like throwing things for me very much, eats with a knife and fork and not straight from a bowl and doesn't appreciate it when I get amorous wiv his right leg. (It's always his right leg and never his left. Why's that I wonder?)
I mean - who'd want that as a Dad?
Sadly the other 50% of his statement wasn't so accurate. I can't really see how he can say he's my master. Do I come when he calls? Only when I want to... Do I lay down, roll over and play dead at his command? No... Does he feed me when I look at him? Yes.
So how's that him being my master?
The thing about is Nicola from the office (Pronounced Nickla) has joined in on the act.
She's worked with Renee and Dickie Doo Dah for nearly two years and today she pipes up that for the first time she's started thinking of Dick as Uncle Richard!
Now, I'm not sure if this accurate or not. She is actually Renee's niece, so does that make her Richard's niece, too? Niece-in-Law maybe? I dunno.
The thing is, she's started addressing emails to Dick Dastardly as Dear Uncle Richard.
Just a little thing that's driving him nuts... and therefore I'm all for it.
I guess the bottom lie to all this, when I actually think about it is that I'm quite happy to let Dick think he's my master (when everybody in the world knows that it's the other way around) just as long as he keeps putting me food out and he scratches me essentials every so often.
I suppose that's the nature of relationships... he gives me something and I give him something in return.
Renee talks about relationships and whether they are in debit or credit. They are a bit like a human bank account. Sometimes you have to pay in to a relationship and other times you take something from it... but you can't do both all the time, it just doesn't work.
Of course, my relationships are always in credit... I allow people to stroke me and that's it - deposit made!
He's a nice enough old cove if a bit of a muppet from time to time.
But me other human, Renee does insist on calling him Barney's Dad... at which point Dick always says 'I'm not his Dad, I'm his master!'
As if!
In that sentence the Dickster has actually managed to excel himself by being at least 50% right.
He is correct in saying that he's not me Dad and I'm quite relieved about it. I mean, he's got no fur to speak of (apart from a light covering on his chest), he's only got two legs, no tail, his nose ain't wet, his tongue doesn't loll (except sometimes after about 10.30 on a Friday night after a particularly hard week), he doesn't sleep enough, doesn't like throwing things for me very much, eats with a knife and fork and not straight from a bowl and doesn't appreciate it when I get amorous wiv his right leg. (It's always his right leg and never his left. Why's that I wonder?)
I mean - who'd want that as a Dad?
Sadly the other 50% of his statement wasn't so accurate. I can't really see how he can say he's my master. Do I come when he calls? Only when I want to... Do I lay down, roll over and play dead at his command? No... Does he feed me when I look at him? Yes.
So how's that him being my master?
The thing about is Nicola from the office (Pronounced Nickla) has joined in on the act.
She's worked with Renee and Dickie Doo Dah for nearly two years and today she pipes up that for the first time she's started thinking of Dick as Uncle Richard!
Now, I'm not sure if this accurate or not. She is actually Renee's niece, so does that make her Richard's niece, too? Niece-in-Law maybe? I dunno.
The thing is, she's started addressing emails to Dick Dastardly as Dear Uncle Richard.
Just a little thing that's driving him nuts... and therefore I'm all for it.
I guess the bottom lie to all this, when I actually think about it is that I'm quite happy to let Dick think he's my master (when everybody in the world knows that it's the other way around) just as long as he keeps putting me food out and he scratches me essentials every so often.
I suppose that's the nature of relationships... he gives me something and I give him something in return.
Renee talks about relationships and whether they are in debit or credit. They are a bit like a human bank account. Sometimes you have to pay in to a relationship and other times you take something from it... but you can't do both all the time, it just doesn't work.
Of course, my relationships are always in credit... I allow people to stroke me and that's it - deposit made!
Monday 27 October 2014
Big sad eyes
I'm discoverin' a couple of new weapons in me quest to be the cutest dog in the greatest Kingdom on Earth...
I'm sure many other subjects of the animal Kingdom want to be the same but they just don't stand a chance.
You see, when someone comes into the shop who I didn't know I'd sort of plod over to them, 'ave a little sniff and, if they don't have any food on 'em, I'd plod back to Dickie Boy's desk to keep an eye on him.
I have to do that because if I don't he'll do something stupid, like get lost on his way to the loo or disappear for days on end working down south.
I don't know, that boy, for a smart human can sometimes be very stupid indeed.
Anyway, if someone I know comes into the office like, say Alan Johnston from City Local, I'll bound over to him and make a fuss, presenting me backside to be scratched and sometimes even planting me paws on a manly chest just so as it's easy to scratch around be shell likes... (that's ears, by the way).
Now, the other day, I had a dilemma.
In comes this lady, who looked very sensible and nice to me. I padded over in me usual way to say hello and do you know what?
Nothing.
Not a flicker.
She didn't 'coo' at me, offer a single scratch or even look at me.
I was flabbergasted. My gast was well and truly flabbered.
Well, I wasn't 'aving that. I had to do something.
So. I sat down next to the lady, with me back to her. I turned me head and looked over me shoulder at her and made me brown eyes melt and dissolve... in fact, I almost shed a manly tear.
And, do yo know what?
It worked!
'Awwww... didn't I pay you any attention? You poor boy. I'm sorry. There you are, how's that,' says she, scratching the top of me head.
Well, it was famous, I can tell you.
I've tried it a couple of times since... the big doleful eyes, very quiet and manly and it's worked every time.
Dickie boy reckons it's just about knowing your customers and what's important to them... and treating them all differently. He reckons there's this phrase:
'Treat customers as you would want to be treated yourself' which he says is plain wrong. 'How about,' says he, 'treating customers as they want to be treated?'
Good point. I like 'having me butt scratched, but I'm not sure it would work if I tried to do it to anyone else!
Before signing off this week I wonder if I could ask a favour? We'd be very grateful if you'd visit and Like our Facebook Page:
https://www.facebook.com/AccountantsEdinburgh
I'm sure many other subjects of the animal Kingdom want to be the same but they just don't stand a chance.
You see, when someone comes into the shop who I didn't know I'd sort of plod over to them, 'ave a little sniff and, if they don't have any food on 'em, I'd plod back to Dickie Boy's desk to keep an eye on him.
I have to do that because if I don't he'll do something stupid, like get lost on his way to the loo or disappear for days on end working down south.
I don't know, that boy, for a smart human can sometimes be very stupid indeed.
Anyway, if someone I know comes into the office like, say Alan Johnston from City Local, I'll bound over to him and make a fuss, presenting me backside to be scratched and sometimes even planting me paws on a manly chest just so as it's easy to scratch around be shell likes... (that's ears, by the way).
Now, the other day, I had a dilemma.
In comes this lady, who looked very sensible and nice to me. I padded over in me usual way to say hello and do you know what?
Nothing.
Not a flicker.
She didn't 'coo' at me, offer a single scratch or even look at me.
I was flabbergasted. My gast was well and truly flabbered.
Well, I wasn't 'aving that. I had to do something.
So. I sat down next to the lady, with me back to her. I turned me head and looked over me shoulder at her and made me brown eyes melt and dissolve... in fact, I almost shed a manly tear.
And, do yo know what?
It worked!
'Awwww... didn't I pay you any attention? You poor boy. I'm sorry. There you are, how's that,' says she, scratching the top of me head.
Well, it was famous, I can tell you.
I've tried it a couple of times since... the big doleful eyes, very quiet and manly and it's worked every time.
Dickie boy reckons it's just about knowing your customers and what's important to them... and treating them all differently. He reckons there's this phrase:
'Treat customers as you would want to be treated yourself' which he says is plain wrong. 'How about,' says he, 'treating customers as they want to be treated?'
Good point. I like 'having me butt scratched, but I'm not sure it would work if I tried to do it to anyone else!
Before signing off this week I wonder if I could ask a favour? We'd be very grateful if you'd visit and Like our Facebook Page:
https://www.facebook.com/AccountantsEdinburgh
Friday 29 August 2014
Milk
'Ello me old muckers... it's been a while since I wrote to you
but I've been inspired this week!
Did I mention it was me birf'day last week?
No? Well it was... I'm now
a big five years old and I guess that makes me almost middle aged. Me human Richard always says that a labrador
is a stomach attached to a life support system... and that's what's happening
to me.
Then he goes on to say that the lary poodle in me is giving way
to the lazy labrador.
Very complimentary is ol' Dickie boy, ain't he just, but I don't
agree with a word he says... ever.
Never mind, I wanted to write to you today about... someone.
I've written about that someone before. You should read the blog about white
coffee. You know the one. This person was asked to make coffee for everyone. When he took ages Richard went to find him...
there he was holding a jar of coffee, still looking in the cupboard. 'What are you doing?' Asks Richard.
'Well, I've found this coffee,' comes the reply, 'But I can't find the
white coffee.'
Anyway, this story is about the same person.
Me other human, Renee, was working late and having a tough time
sorting out something that should have been easy. Our hero or heroine (not me on this occasion
but the subject of me story) came over and hovered by her desk.
'What?' Says Renee, pretty
sharp.
'I just wondered if you wanted some chocolate.'
Immediate change in demeanour.
'Oh, yes please. Thank you very
much.'
'What sort do you have?'
'Just milk chocolate, please.'
And off he or she toddles to the shop.
A few minutes later in he or she comes with a large bar of white
chocolate... in fact, it must have been the largest Milky Bar in the shop.
It's an easy mistake to make! It's the same colour as milk!
And the thought was very much in the right place!
Execution might have been a slight issue but never mind. It did give me a little chuckle at the end of
a very busy day - a busy day for everyone else, that is.
Monday 23 June 2014
Beer
I'm not much of a beer drinker meself, preferring to drink out of muddy puddles, if I'm honest.
Me human, Richard, on the other hand does like the occasional pint of brown stuff.
I don't think he's that much of a beer connoisseur, though. I have heard him respond when ask what beer he'd like with, 'Oh, cheapest, please.'
But, in his old age, he's gone right off lager and started drinking real beer: things like Broadside and Thistle IPA and Wherry...
Last week Dickie boy was darn sarth and met up with an old pal. They meet up every three months or so when Dick is in the Midlands. They have something to eat, chew the fat, take the mick out of people and then shake hands before doing again three months later.
Richard always drives to meet his mate straight from work with two consequences. They are usually finished with their chin wag by about 8 and Dickie is driving, which means it's Diet Coke.
Last week he got back to his hotel, which is right next door to the Watermill pub in Kidderminster on a warm summer's night and decided that he's snatch a pint before he went to watch the TV for a couple of hours.
Bless him, he had it all planned out: a nice pint of London Pride (I suppose that's opposed to a bad pit of London Pride), a seat outside in the warm late evening sunshine, read some stuff on the news, catch up with Facebook and generally chill out.
He says he was just wanting to take advantage of not having to walk me, which I thought was unnecessarily cruel. As though walking me could be in any way a chore!
Anyway, he suffered instant Karma for even thinking that.
'A pint of London Pride,' says he, almost gasping by now.
'Sure,' replies the somewhat stroppy barmaid. 'That's £2.85.'
Dickie Lad opens his wallet (in which he's pretty sure there's a fiver) to find that high treason has taken place and that his wallet was like Ol' Mother Hubbard's cupboard, being somewhat on the bare side.
Not to worry though; out comes the debit card which he tries to hand over.
'Oh, you can't pay by debit card,' says the now really stroppy barmaid. 'Cash only under £5.'
At this point, Richard makes a critical error. Instead of simply saying 'I'll have two pints' and thus avoiding a nasty situation he prefaces the sentence with 'I haven't got any cash...' and then got no further.
The now really very stroppy indeed barmaid interrupted him before he could get the second half of the sentence out: 'Not to worry,' says she with a cruel smile... and proceeds to tip the beer away... right in front of him.
What?
Dick was so incensed that he bravely did nothing and skulked away with his face flaming red like a naughty schoolboy.
The thing was, although he fancied a pint, it wasn't the be all and end all of the world.
But once he couldn't have one, he really, really wanted one. The fact he couldn't have one started eating away at him. It was a nightmare. Why is it they we only really worry things about the things we want when we can't have them?
He should have been more like me. I eat all me biscuits at the start of me walk and then don't think about them again when I finish 'em five minutes later.
He had to wait a whole 24 hours before finally got a pint in Bedford!
Poor lad.
Me human, Richard, on the other hand does like the occasional pint of brown stuff.
I don't think he's that much of a beer connoisseur, though. I have heard him respond when ask what beer he'd like with, 'Oh, cheapest, please.'
But, in his old age, he's gone right off lager and started drinking real beer: things like Broadside and Thistle IPA and Wherry...
Last week Dickie boy was darn sarth and met up with an old pal. They meet up every three months or so when Dick is in the Midlands. They have something to eat, chew the fat, take the mick out of people and then shake hands before doing again three months later.
Richard always drives to meet his mate straight from work with two consequences. They are usually finished with their chin wag by about 8 and Dickie is driving, which means it's Diet Coke.
Last week he got back to his hotel, which is right next door to the Watermill pub in Kidderminster on a warm summer's night and decided that he's snatch a pint before he went to watch the TV for a couple of hours.
Bless him, he had it all planned out: a nice pint of London Pride (I suppose that's opposed to a bad pit of London Pride), a seat outside in the warm late evening sunshine, read some stuff on the news, catch up with Facebook and generally chill out.
He says he was just wanting to take advantage of not having to walk me, which I thought was unnecessarily cruel. As though walking me could be in any way a chore!
Anyway, he suffered instant Karma for even thinking that.
'A pint of London Pride,' says he, almost gasping by now.
'Sure,' replies the somewhat stroppy barmaid. 'That's £2.85.'
Dickie Lad opens his wallet (in which he's pretty sure there's a fiver) to find that high treason has taken place and that his wallet was like Ol' Mother Hubbard's cupboard, being somewhat on the bare side.
Not to worry though; out comes the debit card which he tries to hand over.
'Oh, you can't pay by debit card,' says the now really stroppy barmaid. 'Cash only under £5.'
At this point, Richard makes a critical error. Instead of simply saying 'I'll have two pints' and thus avoiding a nasty situation he prefaces the sentence with 'I haven't got any cash...' and then got no further.
The now really very stroppy indeed barmaid interrupted him before he could get the second half of the sentence out: 'Not to worry,' says she with a cruel smile... and proceeds to tip the beer away... right in front of him.
What?
Dick was so incensed that he bravely did nothing and skulked away with his face flaming red like a naughty schoolboy.
The thing was, although he fancied a pint, it wasn't the be all and end all of the world.
But once he couldn't have one, he really, really wanted one. The fact he couldn't have one started eating away at him. It was a nightmare. Why is it they we only really worry things about the things we want when we can't have them?
He should have been more like me. I eat all me biscuits at the start of me walk and then don't think about them again when I finish 'em five minutes later.
He had to wait a whole 24 hours before finally got a pint in Bedford!
Poor lad.
Wednesday 21 May 2014
Wounded Soldier
I don't go on about it but I have been slightly under the weather recently.
Vis a vis... I have a saw paw.
Like I said, I don't like talking about it but I think it's important that you, me adoring fans, understand what I'm going through in order that you are re-acquainted with my magnificence.
You see, I'm only recounting the story of how brave I am for your benefit. That's how much you mean to me.
(Okay, okay... I realise that last bit might have been more than just a tad over the top.)
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I was walking me humans home when they (finally) noticed I wasn't moving as freely as I used to. In fact, I think I've sprained me knee in the very important pursuit of a stick. Which, I might add, I caught without a problem, killed and shredded in less than a minute.
I was on short walks for a few days and back to normal by Saturday so I had me normal 15 miler at the weekend.
Then yesterday I had just chivvied me human, Richard, out of the door (he's such as sluggard in the morning and I often have to stand for more than 30 seconds staring at the front door with me rear legs crossed before he takes the hint, pulls his trousers on and get me out of the house) when I felt a sudden pain in me front leg.
Agony, it was, I could hardly move. Renee came and picked me up and drove me to the office (Richard came too). I have to say I got a fair amount of sympathy as I hobbled around the office.
Ellie Musson from Kumo Ink came in and she always has a doggy treat for me and yesterday was no different. She gave me a chew which I wolfed down, wandered over to Graham Eden and promptly threw it up again.
Renee took me to the Butcher of Ferry Road later... also known as the vet.
This is the guy who two years ago decided the best way to treat clinkers - although I have to say, as clinkers go they were pretty spectacular; they had actually sealed me bum over - was to shave me nethers all the way back to the wood, then continue shaving virtually to me chest.
He shaved me so close I was itching for weeks... and like an elephant, I never forget.
So I may, in the past have had a little playful nip at his fingers. You know the sort of thing: a quick baring of the teeth. Nothing to it really.
Well, apparently, he's taken the hump at this and has made a note on me file that I'm a biter.
I mean fans, have any of you ever known me to bite..? Apart from you Jamie, and that was an accident; I meant to miss.
Anyway he had a quick look at me leg (from a safe distance) told Renee that I could only have 3 ten minute walks aday and those were to be on me lead, gave me a prescription for pain killers and antibiotics and charged £66 for the pleasure.
Still... could have been worse. He might have shaved me nads.
Then for good measure just to complete me wonderful day, when I got back to the office Ellie gave me another dog treat. I wandered over to Graham and threw up again.
You can probably tell that I don't liking talking about me injury, but I thought it was important you knew what was going on.
And today, me leg feels much better.
Vis a vis... I have a saw paw.
Like I said, I don't like talking about it but I think it's important that you, me adoring fans, understand what I'm going through in order that you are re-acquainted with my magnificence.
You see, I'm only recounting the story of how brave I am for your benefit. That's how much you mean to me.
(Okay, okay... I realise that last bit might have been more than just a tad over the top.)
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I was walking me humans home when they (finally) noticed I wasn't moving as freely as I used to. In fact, I think I've sprained me knee in the very important pursuit of a stick. Which, I might add, I caught without a problem, killed and shredded in less than a minute.
I was on short walks for a few days and back to normal by Saturday so I had me normal 15 miler at the weekend.
Then yesterday I had just chivvied me human, Richard, out of the door (he's such as sluggard in the morning and I often have to stand for more than 30 seconds staring at the front door with me rear legs crossed before he takes the hint, pulls his trousers on and get me out of the house) when I felt a sudden pain in me front leg.
Agony, it was, I could hardly move. Renee came and picked me up and drove me to the office (Richard came too). I have to say I got a fair amount of sympathy as I hobbled around the office.
Ellie Musson from Kumo Ink came in and she always has a doggy treat for me and yesterday was no different. She gave me a chew which I wolfed down, wandered over to Graham Eden and promptly threw it up again.
Renee took me to the Butcher of Ferry Road later... also known as the vet.
This is the guy who two years ago decided the best way to treat clinkers - although I have to say, as clinkers go they were pretty spectacular; they had actually sealed me bum over - was to shave me nethers all the way back to the wood, then continue shaving virtually to me chest.
He shaved me so close I was itching for weeks... and like an elephant, I never forget.
So I may, in the past have had a little playful nip at his fingers. You know the sort of thing: a quick baring of the teeth. Nothing to it really.
Well, apparently, he's taken the hump at this and has made a note on me file that I'm a biter.
I mean fans, have any of you ever known me to bite..? Apart from you Jamie, and that was an accident; I meant to miss.
Anyway he had a quick look at me leg (from a safe distance) told Renee that I could only have 3 ten minute walks aday and those were to be on me lead, gave me a prescription for pain killers and antibiotics and charged £66 for the pleasure.
Still... could have been worse. He might have shaved me nads.
Then for good measure just to complete me wonderful day, when I got back to the office Ellie gave me another dog treat. I wandered over to Graham and threw up again.
You can probably tell that I don't liking talking about me injury, but I thought it was important you knew what was going on.
And today, me leg feels much better.
Friday 18 April 2014
Sometimes I Just Have to Laugh
Oy Oy darling ones...
How are you this fine Easter? Hope you are enjoying the fine weather.
I'm not, thanks for asking. I'd much rather be running around Edinburgh's parks or diving in the glorious doggy swimming pools kindly provided by the government outside their parliament buildings... as per this photo posted by me Austrian friend:
You can find more like this on the TaxAssist West Edinburgh Facebook page just look for the posts by Immer Doch...
But here I am, having to work for living just because me humans have decided that they stupidly need to look after their customers and continue to do what they call work.
But I did have to smile the other day at a little interplay between Richard and our Admin guy, Alan.
Now, I have to say Alan is a terrific guy... I mean he's owned by a dog and everything, but, bless him, sometimes if he's concentrating on something really hard, he doesn't always hear when someone is calling his name.
Change the word 'someone' in the last sentence to 'Richard'.
On this particular occasion Alan was on his way to the post office when Richard realised he needed a letter posted. So, he quickly followed, calling to Alan asking him to wait.
Alan didn't hear Dickie Boy who continues to chase him up the street waving his envelope frantically above his heas, all the while shouting:
'Alan, Alan, Alan, Alan...'
It made me snigger and then I started chuckling, which was soon followed by a guffaw and then a downright laugh.
Mostly because I'd remembered this piece of film...
I defy you not snigger yourself when you watch it.
Anyway, Alan eventually heard and the mail was posted, all present and correct.
But now Richard thinks it's terribly funny to wander round the office muttering 'Alan, Alan, Alan...'
That was until Alan, Alan, Alan said to him: 'You know, that's really annoying.'
Well said Alan... Alan, Alan!
How are you this fine Easter? Hope you are enjoying the fine weather.
I'm not, thanks for asking. I'd much rather be running around Edinburgh's parks or diving in the glorious doggy swimming pools kindly provided by the government outside their parliament buildings... as per this photo posted by me Austrian friend:
You can find more like this on the TaxAssist West Edinburgh Facebook page just look for the posts by Immer Doch...
But here I am, having to work for living just because me humans have decided that they stupidly need to look after their customers and continue to do what they call work.
But I did have to smile the other day at a little interplay between Richard and our Admin guy, Alan.
Now, I have to say Alan is a terrific guy... I mean he's owned by a dog and everything, but, bless him, sometimes if he's concentrating on something really hard, he doesn't always hear when someone is calling his name.
Change the word 'someone' in the last sentence to 'Richard'.
On this particular occasion Alan was on his way to the post office when Richard realised he needed a letter posted. So, he quickly followed, calling to Alan asking him to wait.
Alan didn't hear Dickie Boy who continues to chase him up the street waving his envelope frantically above his heas, all the while shouting:
'Alan, Alan, Alan, Alan...'
It made me snigger and then I started chuckling, which was soon followed by a guffaw and then a downright laugh.
Mostly because I'd remembered this piece of film...
I defy you not snigger yourself when you watch it.
Anyway, Alan eventually heard and the mail was posted, all present and correct.
But now Richard thinks it's terribly funny to wander round the office muttering 'Alan, Alan, Alan...'
That was until Alan, Alan, Alan said to him: 'You know, that's really annoying.'
Well said Alan... Alan, Alan!
Friday 4 April 2014
What a week
Hello me ol' muckers...
'Ow's it going?
I thought I'd tell you a little about me week this week since it's been another busy one... even for me.
I know you all think I lay about looking cute every day but that's just not the way it is. I have a full role to play in this business and I play it to the full.
I mean, I have to walk Richard in the morning, I have to greet the team as they arrive, I have to say hello to customers, keep the school children entertained, souk up to Graham Eden who rents a desk in our office...
And to cap it all I have to get a solid 7 hours sleeping time in as well.
It's not easy, I'm telling you.
This week it's been even harder as Richard's Mum and dad have been staying and... you've guessed it... it's been up to me to keep them entertained in the rain.
Well, Richard's Mum is easy enough, she's happy reading a book and scratching me ears. It's his Dad that's the issue. I have to take him for walks at least three times a day otherwise he gets bored. And it's come sunshine or rain, I can tell you. Actually, this week it's just been rain; but if there had been sunshine I'd have been walking in that too.
And all this has been on top of me usual duties... or as Richard's Dad puts it: dooties. He's from Suffolk.
Generally speaking it's been a busy week at TaxAssist Towers (that's 113 St John's Road to you). But there was one thing that happened to me this week that's more important than anything else... I was experimented on.
Now before you get your fur in a knot in indignation it was at a grooming school. Apparently (and obviously) they don't get to see many woofers like me so I was the star attraction.
Not that things started very well, I have to say. The lady who ran the grooming boudoir was, shall we say, a doggy rather than a people person... but not in a good way. She thought she knew best what was needed.
'Well, we shall have to shave around his testicles and penis.'
What! What?
You back off little lady otherwise you'll be taking your fingers home in a bag.
All that actually came out as grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr... grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr... grrr... grrr.
But, Gawd bless 'im, Richard finally grew a backbone and stood up for me.
'Errr... well, I don't think that's a good idea,' says he. 'He doesn't like it and it makes him itch.'
'What absolute nonsense,' replies the doggy lady in a very sharp tone. 'He has to get used to it... it's like shaving for the first time.'
Richard frowned. 'That's as may be... but you're still not shaving his wedding tackle.'
'Yes, I am.'
'No.'
'Yes.'
It was like watching tennis with my head flicking backwards and forwards.
Anyway, the upshot of it was that Richard won and me balls are still covered with luscious fur. I did get well pampered though, with a bath, perfume and a load of lovely ladies cooing over me.
I must admit, me fur puffed a bit when I was dried but I'm okay again now.
'Ow's it going?
I thought I'd tell you a little about me week this week since it's been another busy one... even for me.
I know you all think I lay about looking cute every day but that's just not the way it is. I have a full role to play in this business and I play it to the full.
I mean, I have to walk Richard in the morning, I have to greet the team as they arrive, I have to say hello to customers, keep the school children entertained, souk up to Graham Eden who rents a desk in our office...
And to cap it all I have to get a solid 7 hours sleeping time in as well.
It's not easy, I'm telling you.
This week it's been even harder as Richard's Mum and dad have been staying and... you've guessed it... it's been up to me to keep them entertained in the rain.
Well, Richard's Mum is easy enough, she's happy reading a book and scratching me ears. It's his Dad that's the issue. I have to take him for walks at least three times a day otherwise he gets bored. And it's come sunshine or rain, I can tell you. Actually, this week it's just been rain; but if there had been sunshine I'd have been walking in that too.
And all this has been on top of me usual duties... or as Richard's Dad puts it: dooties. He's from Suffolk.
Generally speaking it's been a busy week at TaxAssist Towers (that's 113 St John's Road to you). But there was one thing that happened to me this week that's more important than anything else... I was experimented on.
Now before you get your fur in a knot in indignation it was at a grooming school. Apparently (and obviously) they don't get to see many woofers like me so I was the star attraction.
Not that things started very well, I have to say. The lady who ran the grooming boudoir was, shall we say, a doggy rather than a people person... but not in a good way. She thought she knew best what was needed.
'Well, we shall have to shave around his testicles and penis.'
What! What?
You back off little lady otherwise you'll be taking your fingers home in a bag.
All that actually came out as grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr... grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr... grrr... grrr.
But, Gawd bless 'im, Richard finally grew a backbone and stood up for me.
'Errr... well, I don't think that's a good idea,' says he. 'He doesn't like it and it makes him itch.'
'What absolute nonsense,' replies the doggy lady in a very sharp tone. 'He has to get used to it... it's like shaving for the first time.'
Richard frowned. 'That's as may be... but you're still not shaving his wedding tackle.'
'Yes, I am.'
'No.'
'Yes.'
It was like watching tennis with my head flicking backwards and forwards.
Anyway, the upshot of it was that Richard won and me balls are still covered with luscious fur. I did get well pampered though, with a bath, perfume and a load of lovely ladies cooing over me.
I must admit, me fur puffed a bit when I was dried but I'm okay again now.
Friday 28 March 2014
Videos and flies
My human Richard is a prize plonka... and I say that with love in my heart.
But the truth is he always has been and always will be. I mean, has he ever told you the story of why he did the one smart thing he's ever done in his life: choose me?
No?
Well, him and Renee were at the farm choosing from me and me 9 brothers and sisters. Renee was dead set on having a white one but I was having none of it.
'Here's a pare of likely humans,' thinks I, 'I'll be wrapping them round me hind leg and no mistake.'
They were picking up one of the litter and then another with no sign of making any kind of decision.
'Right me loves, I'll have to do something about this,' thinks I. So as Dickie boy picks me up I winks at him. I swear to you, it's true.
I winked and he blinked in surprise.
'He just winked at me!' He exclaimed. 'We'll have this one!'
See what I mean... sucker!
Anyway, I overheard Richard telling a story at their networking event (at which I was the star) the other night about why he's had such a long career as a trainer.
Back in 1988 he was working for Midland Bank and was on their Management Development Programme. He was sent on a 2 day module covering presentation skills. He had to arrive at the programme with a presentation created on anything that wasn't to do with work.
It was being videoed and, this being 1988, the camera was the size of a suitcase.
Richard was first up and he jumped at the chance, striding confidently to the flipchart stand.
'Right,' says he, 'what I want to talk about is...'
And that was it. Nothing else came out. It was all gone. He had zip, nadir, nothing, diddly squat...
The silence stretched on and then he lost control of his hands and like all body language the loss of control was subconscious.
His hands slipped down towards his wedding vegetables and he started, unconsciously, unzipping and re-zipping his flies.
Eventually the facilitator took pity on him and asked if wanted to take five minutes and compose himself.
'Not really,' says Richard, 'I want the ground to open up and swallow me. NO I don't I want the ground to open up and swallow you lot...'
Anyway, it turns out he struggled through the presentation in the end. Of course, this was all filmed and when it came to watching it back the facilitator asked in all earnestness, 'Now Richard, what do you think you did wrong?'
'Well forgetting my words of fiddling with me nuts. You can have either of those two things.'
Having said that he can trace back to that learning experience all the career choices he made, so, it turns out, fiddling with your flies on video is an excellent life choice.
He's still a plonka, though!
But the truth is he always has been and always will be. I mean, has he ever told you the story of why he did the one smart thing he's ever done in his life: choose me?
No?
Well, him and Renee were at the farm choosing from me and me 9 brothers and sisters. Renee was dead set on having a white one but I was having none of it.
'Here's a pare of likely humans,' thinks I, 'I'll be wrapping them round me hind leg and no mistake.'
They were picking up one of the litter and then another with no sign of making any kind of decision.
'Right me loves, I'll have to do something about this,' thinks I. So as Dickie boy picks me up I winks at him. I swear to you, it's true.
I winked and he blinked in surprise.
'He just winked at me!' He exclaimed. 'We'll have this one!'
See what I mean... sucker!
Anyway, I overheard Richard telling a story at their networking event (at which I was the star) the other night about why he's had such a long career as a trainer.
Back in 1988 he was working for Midland Bank and was on their Management Development Programme. He was sent on a 2 day module covering presentation skills. He had to arrive at the programme with a presentation created on anything that wasn't to do with work.
It was being videoed and, this being 1988, the camera was the size of a suitcase.
Richard was first up and he jumped at the chance, striding confidently to the flipchart stand.
'Right,' says he, 'what I want to talk about is...'
And that was it. Nothing else came out. It was all gone. He had zip, nadir, nothing, diddly squat...
The silence stretched on and then he lost control of his hands and like all body language the loss of control was subconscious.
His hands slipped down towards his wedding vegetables and he started, unconsciously, unzipping and re-zipping his flies.
Eventually the facilitator took pity on him and asked if wanted to take five minutes and compose himself.
'Not really,' says Richard, 'I want the ground to open up and swallow me. NO I don't I want the ground to open up and swallow you lot...'
Anyway, it turns out he struggled through the presentation in the end. Of course, this was all filmed and when it came to watching it back the facilitator asked in all earnestness, 'Now Richard, what do you think you did wrong?'
'Well forgetting my words of fiddling with me nuts. You can have either of those two things.'
Having said that he can trace back to that learning experience all the career choices he made, so, it turns out, fiddling with your flies on video is an excellent life choice.
He's still a plonka, though!
Tuesday 11 March 2014
Keys and the Domino Affect
My humans, for clever people, can be really stupid sometimes.
Last week they were a bit more stupid than usual and it was all down to Richard and what he did with a set of keys.
Here's the story.
A friend was up to stay the night. Peter arrived at 4.00pm and I let him stay at my place. The humans were all going out while I looked after the hoose and Peter was scheduled to leave the next morning at 10.
Peter said he fancied a walk and shoved his rucksack in the back of the TaxAssist Mini for Renee to bring home later while us three (Richard, Barney and Peter) took a manly stroll home together. Their table was booked for 7.30 at Morningside Spice. (That's an Indian restaurant).
We 3 got home in good time and then Richard's 'phone went off:
'Darling, do you know where the Mini keys are?'
Richard went pale. 'Errr... yes, they're in my pocket.'
There was a stony silence, before, through gritted teeth, 'Never mind, I'll get a taxi home and then we'll all go to the restaurant.'
'But you need to go to BNI first thing.'
'Well, you can get up and take me down in your car.'
At this point Peter coughed gently. 'My bag's in the back of the car and so's my wash kit.'
At this point 'arse' seemed an appropriate word.
'I'll come down and get you and we'll drive straight to the restaurant and leave the car,' was Richard's suggestion.
'But what about BNI in them morning?' Asked Renee.
'Oh, bloody hell, you can follow me to the restaurant in the Mini and you can not have a glass of wine.'
Silence.
'Darling? Darling?'
'Alright,' says Renee again through gritted teeth, 'that's what we'll do.'
So off went Richard and Peter to collect Renee and the two rucksacks.
Richard jumped out of car 2, unlocked the mini, picked up the rucksacks and Renee and they all went to the restaurant where the 'no drink' plan fell a bit flat.
'It's okay,' said Renee, 'I'll get a lift in the morning and you two can walk back to work.'
And that's what happened. Except Richard couldn't sleep and got up early and walked down to pick the car up, by which time Renee had texted for a lift to BNI. The problem was she couldn't find a lift and resigned herself to not going. And then Richard turned up with transport... but it was too late.
Finally, when they picked up the Mini it turns out Richard had forgotten to lock it!
You see what I mean? I sometimes wonder how these two organised the shop move so smoothly without me looking after them.
And I have to live with this pair of eejits!
Last week they were a bit more stupid than usual and it was all down to Richard and what he did with a set of keys.
Here's the story.
A friend was up to stay the night. Peter arrived at 4.00pm and I let him stay at my place. The humans were all going out while I looked after the hoose and Peter was scheduled to leave the next morning at 10.
Peter said he fancied a walk and shoved his rucksack in the back of the TaxAssist Mini for Renee to bring home later while us three (Richard, Barney and Peter) took a manly stroll home together. Their table was booked for 7.30 at Morningside Spice. (That's an Indian restaurant).
We 3 got home in good time and then Richard's 'phone went off:
'Darling, do you know where the Mini keys are?'
Richard went pale. 'Errr... yes, they're in my pocket.'
There was a stony silence, before, through gritted teeth, 'Never mind, I'll get a taxi home and then we'll all go to the restaurant.'
'But you need to go to BNI first thing.'
'Well, you can get up and take me down in your car.'
At this point Peter coughed gently. 'My bag's in the back of the car and so's my wash kit.'
At this point 'arse' seemed an appropriate word.
'I'll come down and get you and we'll drive straight to the restaurant and leave the car,' was Richard's suggestion.
'But what about BNI in them morning?' Asked Renee.
'Oh, bloody hell, you can follow me to the restaurant in the Mini and you can not have a glass of wine.'
Silence.
'Darling? Darling?'
'Alright,' says Renee again through gritted teeth, 'that's what we'll do.'
So off went Richard and Peter to collect Renee and the two rucksacks.
Richard jumped out of car 2, unlocked the mini, picked up the rucksacks and Renee and they all went to the restaurant where the 'no drink' plan fell a bit flat.
'It's okay,' said Renee, 'I'll get a lift in the morning and you two can walk back to work.'
And that's what happened. Except Richard couldn't sleep and got up early and walked down to pick the car up, by which time Renee had texted for a lift to BNI. The problem was she couldn't find a lift and resigned herself to not going. And then Richard turned up with transport... but it was too late.
Finally, when they picked up the Mini it turns out Richard had forgotten to lock it!
You see what I mean? I sometimes wonder how these two organised the shop move so smoothly without me looking after them.
And I have to live with this pair of eejits!
Wednesday 26 February 2014
Getting Things Done
Oy Oy me old muckers... I'm back after being on me hols.
Yes, I've been away, thanks for asking, and a very nice time I had, too. You see, it's much easier to wind Richard's mum and dad round me little claw than it is Richard himself.
Having said that, my sad face and a quick glance at the biscuit cupboard works wonders even on the Iceman, as he thinks of himself.
What a plonka!
Anyway, it's back to normal here at TaxAssist Towers. I have a full programme every day. After I walk one or other of me humans from home to the new shop I have to go round the rest of the team to make sure they're chivvied along and know what they're doing. Once that happens I need a snooze for a bit because I have to have me strength for when customers come in.
You see it's my job to pad to the front of the office, give 'em a welcoming sniff and generally make 'em feel as though I'm pleased to see them. After that I hand them over to Alan and he can do the manual stuff like making them coffee and that sort of thing.
Then I have to take Richard for his walk at lunchtime so he can have a wee before doing it all again in the afternoon.
Being around businesses and business people all day I get to hear some very funny stories, some stories that are pretty hair raising and others that just make you shake your fur in amazement.
Take the tale told by Bill. Bill is one of me customers. He has a couple of staff working in an office and they really make him pull his hair out...
Or at least they used to. Bill is bald now, probably because he pulled so much hair when he was younger.
He was talking to Renee the other day about a job he asked one of staff to do. A couple of days later he called his staff member into the office to ask how they were getting on.
'Oh, I've done what you asked,' says they. 'But I think I'll have to change it!'
What?
What's the point of that?
Why do something and then say to your boss 'it'll have to be changed'?
Much better to make the changes and then say to the boss, 'this is what I think needs to be done.'
Bill shook his has in exasperation when he told his story. 'What am I to do with them?' He asks Renee.
'Coaching,' says Renee. 'You need to employ a coaching mentality. Ask them what changes they think should be made and then ask them how they could have made things easier for you.'
Bill frowned. 'That could take ages.'
'Yes,' agreed Renee. 'And it's as frustrating as hell but if you're consistent with it eventually the message gets through and your team will start to do the things you want them to... first time.'
Bill left the office looking thoughtful.
It sounded like hello of a palaver to me. If it was my choice I'd just bite their balls off and tell 'em what to do!
Yes, I've been away, thanks for asking, and a very nice time I had, too. You see, it's much easier to wind Richard's mum and dad round me little claw than it is Richard himself.
Having said that, my sad face and a quick glance at the biscuit cupboard works wonders even on the Iceman, as he thinks of himself.
What a plonka!
Anyway, it's back to normal here at TaxAssist Towers. I have a full programme every day. After I walk one or other of me humans from home to the new shop I have to go round the rest of the team to make sure they're chivvied along and know what they're doing. Once that happens I need a snooze for a bit because I have to have me strength for when customers come in.
You see it's my job to pad to the front of the office, give 'em a welcoming sniff and generally make 'em feel as though I'm pleased to see them. After that I hand them over to Alan and he can do the manual stuff like making them coffee and that sort of thing.
Then I have to take Richard for his walk at lunchtime so he can have a wee before doing it all again in the afternoon.
Being around businesses and business people all day I get to hear some very funny stories, some stories that are pretty hair raising and others that just make you shake your fur in amazement.
Take the tale told by Bill. Bill is one of me customers. He has a couple of staff working in an office and they really make him pull his hair out...
Or at least they used to. Bill is bald now, probably because he pulled so much hair when he was younger.
He was talking to Renee the other day about a job he asked one of staff to do. A couple of days later he called his staff member into the office to ask how they were getting on.
'Oh, I've done what you asked,' says they. 'But I think I'll have to change it!'
What?
What's the point of that?
Why do something and then say to your boss 'it'll have to be changed'?
Much better to make the changes and then say to the boss, 'this is what I think needs to be done.'
Bill shook his has in exasperation when he told his story. 'What am I to do with them?' He asks Renee.
'Coaching,' says Renee. 'You need to employ a coaching mentality. Ask them what changes they think should be made and then ask them how they could have made things easier for you.'
Bill frowned. 'That could take ages.'
'Yes,' agreed Renee. 'And it's as frustrating as hell but if you're consistent with it eventually the message gets through and your team will start to do the things you want them to... first time.'
Bill left the office looking thoughtful.
It sounded like hello of a palaver to me. If it was my choice I'd just bite their balls off and tell 'em what to do!
Saturday 25 January 2014
A nice cock-up to have
We, it has to be said, were at home to Mr Cock-Up in the office the other day.
It wasn't a bad cock-up, just funny, which is nice. But it did make me smile because it simply proved what an eejit me human Richard is.
So here's the story.
It's January and I'm the principle woofer in an accountancy practice which means I'm busier than usual directing me staff as we deal with a million tax returns. Here I am really making sure everyone is on top of their game:
At the beginning of the month me other human, Renee, met with a lady. The lady handed over her records and they were passed to Richard to work on.
At the beginning of the month me other human, Renee, met with a lady. The lady handed over her records and they were passed to Richard to work on.
The process was repeated with another lady a day or so later and this work was handed to Stewart to complete.
All good so far and everything was under control, work done and tax returns completed.
So, on Thursday, lady 1 (who we'll call Rita) booked an appointment to sign her return at 10am on Friday. Lady 2 (Sharon) didn't.
10am on Friday arrived and it was bedlam in the office: our new sharer, Graham from Contempo Lettings (www.contempolettings.co.uk/contact-us/contempo-edinburgh-south.html), had a client in, Renee was meeting with a new client, the window cleaners were in and then a lady walked in through the door and said she was here to sign her tax return.
'Ah', says Alan. 'You're our 10 o'clock!'
Renee still had her previous client so said to the person we had in reception 'Hi Rita. I'm just with someone so I'll introduce you to Richard who'll talk you through your tax return.'
'Oh, okay,' says the lady smiling, 'No problem at all.'
Richard, with me padding softly behind him to make sure he did the job right, smiles at the lady and takes through into our Board Room.
'Okay, Rita, let's talk you through you tax return.'
At this point things got a little confusing.
'My name's Sharon,' says lady 2 in response.
'Oh,' says Richard. 'Do people just call you Rita?' His voice tailed off slightly... 'Maybe as a nickname?'
'Not that I know of, my name is Sharon.'
Ah... Mr Cock-up was knocking on the door.
But not to worry, cos quick as a flash, with a mind like a steel trap, Richard grasped the situation. 'So, you don't have an appointment at 10?'
'No. I was passing and you'd called a couple of days ago to say my return was done. I thought I'd drop in on the off chance.'
'Right-e-o... so you don't want to sign a return for someone called Rita?'
'Not really.'
Richard left the meeting room to go and print the correct tax return form just as another lady was coming through the door.
'Hi,' says she to Alan. 'My name is Rita and I have an appointment to sign my tax return at 10 this morning.'
Don't worry, it all worked out in the end. Richard explained he was with another customer and Rita kindly agreed to wait...
But Sharon asked for a little time to digest her tax figures, which is fine. Richard used the time wisely: he took Rita into our third meeting room and explained her figures to her.
Rita was delighted, signed the return straight away and left a happy woman.
Back to Sharon in the Board Room... she, by now had had the opportunity to digest the figures and was happy with her tax bill. (Or at least accepting). She also signed her return and left.
Phew!
Disaster averted and it all worked out in the end. I'm glad Ricky Boy passed the little test I set him.
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