Some odd sites in the City today. I spotted a man in a suit spraying the corner of a bank with liquid eminating from a small pink tube jutting out of his trousers. As he shook the last few drops, he explained to shocked passers by that he was simply marking his territory before the government stormed in with big guns and tried to force money down his throat.
I asked him if he was grateful for the public money. He roared with laughter and spat in the general direction of my visage.
Should you enter one of these places where Mr Money lives, you'll notice the sour, soulful expressions on the faces of the employees. They were dressed in rags, having sold off their nice clothes to keep their companies afloat. Now, we have been instructed by the Tories to be concerned about these chaps and their colleagues in the call centres. These community workers could lose their jobs!
We have sent them a food parcel and some woolie jumpers that we were going to use to keep warm this winter in lieu of heating but... the economy comes first. Just like my wife.
I do worry about jobs. Whenever we objected to arms going to nasty foreign countries abroad overseas, we were often reminded that dozens of jobs were at risk in those killing factories in the Isle of Wight. Poor things.
The Sheds say: 'Strangle strangle frumpy frump.'
