Work - and what you do for it?

Which one? Greggs? Or are you a more bespoke artisan proprietor? 

What a game to be in. Managed to survive a whole decade longer. You sir, are a quitter.



A Terrible time in my life mate.  Reminded me of this old post i slung up on bedrock a few years ago ;

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LLOYDS OF LONDON ‘MY WORD IS MY BOND’ A PAGE IN THE DIARY.

6am: Unleash bowel movement Purging yesterdays Petrol washed translucent flake cocaine, continental lager and sundry sweet meats.

6.10am: Get up.

6.11am: Think about Killing Myself. Shower/ power wank while thinking of the slaggy Basildon Receptionists Feet , toe rings and Ankle Chain and the way she chews her gum like a fucking Horse thus processing remaining toxins down the plug hole. Catharsis Most Foul. Self worth at all time low.

6.45am: violent argument with wife.

7 am: No time for breakfast , off to work!.

7.45 am: Work. Print off black and white images from the internet  of consenting adults engaging in sexual intercourse. Including cum shots. Toilet. Wank. Klix Machine latte.

8am : Work!..push papers around, stare at screen , tap pen on teeth, toilet, wank. The residual effects of the hydrochloric salts from the coca plant are a sweet bitch.

1oam : pretend to read the publication ‘lloyds list’ while thinking of ways to steal the receptionists ‘Remains of the day’ high heel shoes in order to inhale the sexual pheromones and thus reach sexual nirvana and gratification asap in the office shithouse..


11am : ‘strategy meeting’ with other ‘non marine faculty specialists’.. in reality alcoholics all shaking like the drunken bakers in ‘viz’. Item one, agenda one , priority one ..liaise to meet in drakes wine bar or the english club 11.45am.

11.40am: pick up folders and with the determined look of east german sprinter marlies goher, stride purposefully to the ‘market’ with Duran Durans ‘hungry like the wolf’ ringing in your head eager for new business.

11.42am: simply decide against the exciting new buSIness venture of going to see some Underwriter cunt in his ‘box’ to talk stop loss triangulations, so head straight for ‘drakes’ in leadenhall market.

11.45am. meet with other ‘non marine faculty specialists’ to discuss covering each others arses if it all gets on top.

12.15pm: thoughts turn to the kibble ( Cocaine) and where we take our custom today. Will it be ‘wraps’, ‘bar bed’ , the counting house, the elephant or the wine lodge.

1pm: time to take the show on the road!.. press buzzer to gain entry into leman streets 'bar bed’s gentlemans club' upstairs behind reinforced fire door. 


1.01pm: time to mingle!!. associate with ‘colourful’ collection of junkies, theives, bullies, cunts,pimps, 70’S Gangsters, Eastender actors, whores, sex fiends and reinsurance brokers.


4.30pm: leave establishment ripped to the tits and £2OO Lighter, but in possession of the life giving elixir that is the kibble. scurry off  to lloyds of london for an appointment with inanimate object ‘the lutine bell’


4.45pm: Chew the shit with bob the pristine yeoman at the entrance of lloyds, absouletly deranged and cunted , like im his long lost brother(while making a mental note to ignore him the next day, if i survive the next 24 hours).


5pm: leave bob crying/scared and go to meet underwriter for my 2.30pm appointment.


5.o2pm: wank in bogs, really unloading a pootle of gear in a prolonged orgasm due to being on the kibble all afternoon.


5.11pm…. miss my 2.30pm appointment and express my apologies. my nans dying of ‘testicular cancer ‘or something.

5:15pm ..’lunch ‘ more kibble and more pints in leadenhall market. discuss exciting new opportunities within an organic growing market with other ‘specialists’.

5.45pm..return to office. pack up leave. Prise open the petty cash box for £150 and point the finger at the african cleaners…after all ‘my word is my bond’.


5.55pm..in to the wine lodge , more cocaine, more pints, more discussion on pornography, Normally the esoteric sphere of Gonzo and canning town single mothers taking it up the kippax from 9" Black Meatus.

7pm..asked to leave by pub management,  inventory reveals dangerously low stock levels of kibble ie 1/2 a gram. 

8pm..leave the counting house restocked.! Another £120 up the fucking Bugle. 

8.15..in the cheshire cheese pub, reminiscing with other ‘specialists’ about our brave former comrades that have fallen by the wayside and now live above a pet shop in a bedsit in eltham, either estranged from their wife and children or dead.


8.15pm to 9pm : have a fucking good laugh about the above ‘fallen’. cunts.

9.01pm: scurry over to Bulls head passage Leadenhall market , knock out the theme tune to ‘Some mothers do have ’em’ on the security door. Spun round on the captains wheel then my upper case glutes being worked over good and proper by a congolese brass on an exercise ball . Snort a road marker of a line and like steve Ovett on seb Coes shoulder 200 meters out, time my orgasam just as im impaled on a phallic rocking chair while my Boss , The Deputy CEO of a bespoke Reinsurance world leader, screams ‘Yes I approve!’  from an iron maiden.

10.15pm: time for home!!!. ring estranged ex colleagues wife on train home , wired to fuck, with propositions of a sexual nature, realise you have in fact rung your sister, but continue anyway.

11pm just in time to get a top of cocaine from colourful characters in the essex arms Brentwood public house, or to ring the travelling community to pop a gram round.

12.25: home time!, throw dinner in bin have another violent argument with wife, spend a night of fitful sleep on the sofa in my suit in waiting to do it all again.