addedentry at lunchtime, for the sake of my sanity, and foolishly asked him whether the post had come after I left for work. He, like the young George Washington (and Eric the Swot in ZX Spectrum classic Back To Skool), cannot tell a lie, and so he had to tell me that a letter had come from The IR Group. A second-class letter. I'm sure we all know what that means.I had to leave the canteen in the middle of my sandwiches and go for a little walk to the end of the industrial estate and back.
I mean, WTF? What is wrong with me? What is the big huge personality defect that means I fall again and again at the final hurdle? Do I smell? Am I boring? Am I a bit peculiar? Will somebody please tell me so I can work on it?
A fresh batch of application forms arrived in the same post, and so the cycle begins anew.
Every time I think I've reached the absolute end of my tether, I find there's still plenty of chain to yank.
