Happy Dance

Today I have mostly been outmorting Mort, as I Happy Dance around the place. OK, so it’s only been since mid afternoon, but it still counts.

Several years ago, I confided to a work colleague that “if person XXX ever became my boss, I’d leave”. Not long after that there was a reorganisation, I was moved sideways (while keeping the same job) and XXX became my boss. However, there were rumours of imminent redundancies, so it seemed silly to go straight away.

Then those rumours faded away, but almost immediately the company wanted to send me on a very expensive course leading to a nationally recognised qualification. Well, it would be stupid to leave then, wouldn’t it? So I stayed and completed the qualification, by which time they were talking about sending me on an even more expensive course (the now-in-doubt course I blogged about the other day).

And now XXX has been promoted to another site, and it’s possible that after tomorrow I won’t see him any more..and I certainly won’t be working for him. Suddenly the prospect of staying seems rather bright, with or without the new course.

Whaddya mean, you’d rather have a cat story? OK, this is a Garfield story, from his days at Hospital Radio. As I said, the studio in those days was in the grounds of a mainly disused hospital, with lots of greenery, lawns and bushes about, an ideal haven for wildlife. One evening I was leaving the site, when in the glare of the headlights I saw a fox. Then I saw Garfield. Trotetty trotetty trot, went the fox, much in the manner of Ethel the Aardvark*. “Hello”, he anthropomorphised to the much smaller Garfield. “BIFF” went Garfield. Exit fox, stage left, rather wiser than he had been.

He wasn’t a violent ct, but he knew how to defend his territory.

*Read some old Monty Python** scripts if this one escapes you
**I think

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