Compulsory fun? No thanks!

My profuse apologies for a failure to post in the last week or two.

Some of my time has been gainfully spent elsewhere helping family and friends in activity which – I would like to think – might have some social value.

Some, sadly, has not.

For example, there is the two hours of compulsory fun inflicted on me and many others by a corporate entity which shall remain nameless. Two hours of my life which I will never get back, one of which cut into valuable family time and which I wasn’t even paid for.

The whole thing was like a nightmare company convention that might have been held at a motorway hotel in the 1980’s. I can only feel glad I got out before the CEO put a lampshade on his head and demanded everyone joined in a conga through the buffet and cheesy disco.

As for that crumpled white shirt and chino look favoured by the 21st century company executive?

It could well be simply too many hotel rooms since time at home, but it has the unfortunate effect of making them look like ageing preppies who’ve spent too much time pulling bad cult film all-nighters to use the washing machine.

Also, I can understand why prematurely balding men shave their heads in a misguided attempt to look cool, but I have to suggest that look stopped being edgy when Mussolini made it his own. And since Andrew Marr took a certain type of blogger to task it is also more associated with thirty-somethings who still live with their parents and spend all night typing angrily on the net.

Oh, and before anyone is tempted to cry ‘pot, kettle, black’, I left home at 16 and am neither bald nor angry – more amused by the ease with which the local dogmatics and hard-of-thinking can be wound up by constant teasing.

Finally, I’m really not sure which is sadder, corporate bores acting like wannabe rock stars or that rock stars are nothing but corporate bores anyway. When the two are indistinguishable you just know the world has gone to hell in a hand-basket.

All of which may help explain why I’m dreading next Friday. Seriously, seriously dreading it.

Not because it’s Friday the 13th, but because it’s Red Nose Day, or Comic Relief… or whatever they’re calling it this year.

Frankly, there is nothing comic about it, and the only relief to me is when it’s all over.

How simply can I explain this?

A Rotarian in a bathful of baked beans?

Not funny.

A Rotarian who sincerely believes so much as one second of his drab and deluded existence is of some value to humanity?

Hilarious.

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