Barney, the Big Gay Bear, on my team, was going on and on about Euro-pride today. He is in the parade through Manchester in a Bungo outfit handing out gummi bears to the crowd.
I wasn’t listening because despite my better wishes I kept going over and over the appraisal in my head.
Aloof. Cynical. Fuck ‘em. Fuck ‘em.
Something in me wanted to prove them wrong, but something was also saying Fuck ‘em.
Brenda kept looking at me with a tight smile that you give to people who have been diagnosed with a terminal illness: “I don’t know what to say – sorry.”
Janice has had content buzz. Tony has switched back to his management guru mode and has stopped having lunch with me (he’ll be back).
My Wankerdaq portfolio has gone through the roof.
“You look tired.” Barney interrupted his story to express concern.
“I’m ok.” I replied. “I didn’t sleep last night, I had a lot on my mind, I was tossing all night.”
“Well, I hope I’ll be doing the same all through the weekend!”