Can't find the other one, seems to have expired, so I'll begin.



I have a slight problem.



Collections at work. Costs me more to flipping work here than I earn some days, collection for Tina's rabbit having an operation, sponsoring Barrington's son not to be a wassock fo half an hour, the list is endless.



Most recent one is a collection for some flowers for Jackie. Why? She had a few days off recently, she's not leaving, what are we collecting for her for?



Well, apparently, whilst out with a colleague a couple of weeks ago she felt quite ill. Colleague offered to take her to the hospital but she said no, just take me home. At home she feels worse so her husband calls an ambulance. At hospital they decide she's got a serious problem with her gall bladder and will have to undergo immediate surgery. Whilst on the table, Jackie arrests and they have to shock her to resuscitate her. Awful. However she's since made a full recovery and is back at work.



So, it would appear we're having a collection for someone who's died and then come back to life. My issue is this. For a normal collection, say, for someone who's leaving or for someone who's ill long term i usually default to a quid. Now, how much is resurrection worth? Is it more or less than a quid? Fifty pence, two pounds? I don't know.

It's a tricky one.

Thing is a resurrection is a lot more glamorous, so would merit something more than a quid. However, the fact that she's had this resurrection means she will eventually pop off again. So, are you willing to give twice?

Stuff it.

Cards - expensive (considering it is a bit of printed card) ornaments that stop off briefly on the mantlepiece on their way to the recycling bin.

The Mother's day card i sent this year didn't even manage to navigate the postal system so that was a waste of money and effort. My wife's admittedly, but still.

Talking of work-based inconvenient pleasantries, Mrs Mild's old place had a tradition of bringing sweets or biscuits back from holiday, so you'd have to spend half a day schlepping around to find something, rather than enjoying yourself. Generally ended in failure and a purchase from the airport anyway.

I hate the holiday gift thing. One lady always brings back shell/bead bracelets, awful things.

I'm always getting emails at work asking for donations for leaving presents for some person I've never even met before.

Or one's that tell me Karen from Purchase accounts is leaving to have a baby, blah de blah. I've never even seen Karen.

However, as its my last day in the office tomorrow I am fully expecting a huge send off.

Best to leave it for a couple of weeks - might still be a bit raw after the op

Lots of shouting going on. Mr Deputy Speaker is sorting them out.

Ah.



Gift or present.



One of [ithose[/i ones. The pudding or dessert. The greens or vegetables.

Depends if the vacation was in France. I like to bring toilet rolls back.

And stack 'em on the laminated floor of your 'little boy's room?'

its the main reason i work for myself to avoid collections when it did used to happen i used to deny knowledge of the person

I have a pound coin attached to an elastic wrist strap that I use in a Top Cat stylee for these unpleasant events.

Also why the hell should you have to bring Cakes into the office for everyone when it's your birthday? I take the time off to avoid it.

Those weird little things that we're programmed to fit to the side of our toilets?



Toilet duck.



Domestos away.



Parazone exterminator.



Why do we do that?



For about ten years I've been buying those things, irrespective of that, I still clean my toilet, I don't want people coming around to my Secret Hill Top Lair (not that they can get past the portcullis) and seeing an awful bottom stripe, hell, I'll sort that out.



The dangling chemical pouch does not sort that shizzle out.



They cost two sheets them bad boys, bought some Sally Sainsbury's one's, point nine of a queen.



These mo-fo's contain depleted uranium.



Consumer watch, don't buy this stuff.



Believe, I grew up on The Holderness Plain in the nineteen seventies, you want end up like me?



No.



Don't make the kids breathe the chemicals I had to.