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QUOTE OF THE WEEK:
Dermot: On how busy he was
"I've enough on my plate just dossing here."
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Fiona Leaves The House
"Our Fiona", as she became known to most of us, has left the house. Fiona was with us for a long time - probably the longest original member excluding Ger.
Fiona's speech and present awarding ceremony came close to Pam's in emotional terms. It was clear that no-one will be glad to see the back of her. Fiona was definitely one of the jewels in the crown that is the Business House*. We will all miss her terribly, both professionally and personally. She is a really good designer and very enthusiastic.
To that end, the company have organised a special contract that Fiona is going to continue to work with us from Portugal, thanks to the wonders of "Web-ex", which I have only heard of yesterday. So I am looking forward to discovering the joys of Web conferencing.
I am also looking forward to visiting her in Portugal. Now that'll be interesting.
Naturally we went out to Russell's to see her off. That was a good night.
Dermot: "I Had Sex Change"
One of out most esteemed designers, Dermot, has admitted that he has had an operation to change his sex. This shocking news has sent shockwaves through the entire company. Bill the boss said to me today that he is "very disappointed and saddened. I always thought Dermo was a good solid country lad."
Left: "Derbhla": Dermot in 1997.
Right: Dermot as he appears today.
The news was revealed on Friday when "Derbhla" as she used to be known, accidentally left an old photo of herself on her desk. When questioned by our reporter, Dermot admitted that he did actually travel to England two years ago to have the procedure carried out.
Dermot would not comment on the details of the operation, and neither would Anderson Cosmetics Ltd., the company who performed the operation. Their spokesperson said "We are unable to give details of our procedures to the press". When questioned on the specific case, they refused to even admit that they handled Dermot's operation.
Male friends of Dermot were confused last night, one of them told me in confidence that he didn't know "whether [he] was coming or going talking to [Dermot]".
We interviewed an old boyfriend from before the operation. He said that Derbhla always seemed to be very masculine and appeared to be more interested in girls than boys.
Dermot would not comment further, but a press conference is being arranged for some time next week. Rumour has it that Dermot is thinking of stepping down from his position in light of these revelations. We will see what next week brings…
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Careless Young One Sends Junk Mail To Entire Dublin Office
One of the girls in the house carelessly sent an emil about Big Brother to Everyone in the 'Skeagh office. The mail was an advertisement for telephone numbers one could call if they wanted to vote for certain members of the "Big Brother" show on Channel Four. Not long after the offence, a mail was sent around from one of the bosses stating:
"With reference to the recent "big brother" email please note that the sending of this type of email is an unnecessary waste of company time and equipment. As stated in the company handbook the "[e-mail] system is to be used for business purposes only and we strongly discourage use of the system for sending junk mail, jokes or inappropriate material"
Of course most of us saw the two mails at once because we hadn't refreshed our inboxes. Everone agreed that the sending of the particular e-mail was a ridiculous thing to do. First of all, you don't send crap to people you don't know, secondly, you don't send crap to bosses unless you know they would appreciate it, thirdly you can't assume everyone is interested in "Big Brother". I don't know this girl, but I think she really let herself down on this occasion. God love her.
5 Generations of Business House Released
Fiona and I were looking at the generations of crew in the Business House since it's inception a few years ago. We came up with this categorisation:
1st generation: Dermot the founder, Ger, some others I don't know...
2nd generation: Mary Kate, Paul the Manager, Fiona, Phil, Kevin, Tom,
3rd generation: Viv, Glen, Mo, Waltzer, Mark, Sheherazade, Cathy, Sally, Sarah
4th generation: Dermot, Matt, Ian, Ray, Aideen, Fergus, Nicola, Clodagh, Rachel
5th generation: Ciara
Please excuse my omissions and mistakes. If you want to make any amendments to this, send them to me and I will show a complete list next week.
Sweet and Sour Chicken
Since Mo refuses to deliver the Bia in a reasonable fromat, I have to link to it.
©Mo
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Crash!
When is a crash a crash? Well speaking from vast experience on the issue is Ian "Kaner" Kane!
Well here is what usually happens: you are going along, usually with mates. That's how you get sucked into the high speed syndrome. Not that it's all that bad, everything is going grand flying along your favourite country lanes or whatever, and next thing… Bang! You're skating along on your arse amidst a shower of sparks and crunching of exotic alloy leaving a trail of destruction in your wake. Talented, even inspired if you know what the hell just happened: that comes later. Now tumbling down the road is traumatic but it's the sudden stop that hurts. But it's not the thoughts of "Oh my God my spinal cord or my left atrium flying through your head, its more like "Me fookin' bike"…
Sums and figures flash through your head and you usually have rough figure present by the time you stop sliding and jump up. Straight away, two broken legs, a punctured lung and third degree burns from the neck down. It doesn't matter… You hobble over to your trusty steed lying in a pool of petrol and oil if you're really unlucky. Then the pain sets in because now you know its fooked so what's the point? A lighting cigarette is thrust into your mouth as you stand in a pool of petrol assessing the damage.
This is where those two haunting words crop up again "err… what happened?" Truth being you haven't a clue, but guaranteed it's something along the lines of going too fast, trying to get knee down too soon, too much, too hard... your fault!
The conversation goes something like this: "Yeah I hit oil, held it and managed to steer away from the innocent bystanders etc. etc…" Ah sure you're a hero. Your mates don't believe a word of it - sure they saw the whole thing but they look graciously at the ground and nod their heads, just like school days. But you're allowed a degree of freedom as to the actual events due to trauma. An extreme session ensues later, and as everyone buys you a pint the stories escalate as you paint a picture of super human skills that no other mortal posses.
But the biggest pain is not the physical pain or the extreme expense of the repair bill or even missing out on a daily spin for the whole summer (3 years in a row now !!!). None of that maters because when you get on to the bus Monday morning you really know the true meaning of misery.
Now that wrecks me buzz.
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