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.
Thursday, 13 November 2014
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!
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