Internal Memo: Season's Greetings

Dear All,

First off I'd like to wish you all a Merry Christmas and ask the person who abused the photocopying machine on Saturday's office bash to come forward.  The act was neither entertaining nor clever and reflects a standard of activity far below the heraldic wit that our subscribers have come to expect from us.  God knows how Gladys will react to the sight of next years paper budget being wasted on the promotion of the male member but the task will no doubt take more muscle to fix than the usual mop and bucket approach and I'll not be taking the flack for this one.

That said I'm looking forward to the Carol Concert and utter my thanks to Goodgame who has lived up to his name by faxing across the lyrics for tomorrow's festivities.  Time may be against us but a little work and we'll get this baby nailed.  I've had a read and must confess that my memory was in dire need of refreshing as it would appear I have little recollection of the words and the music quite escapes me having not heard it since the Upper Butterfield Midnight Mass service back in '86.  So have fun with it and I'll see you all at The Plough at a prompt 5ish and we'll soil a few hearts.

Shaky xxx

Away In A Manger (Lyrics)

Hooked up with a minger,

Legs splayed on the bed,

My little poor penis,

Laid down his soft head.

Her parts in the lamplight,

Looked up where she lay,

My little poor penis,

Asleep in her hay.

The prattle is flowing,

In coldness she waits,

My little poor penis,

Sore crying he makes.

I hate thee poor penis,

Catch glance eye to eye,

Let's leave this here bedside,

'fore one of us cries.

Be with me poor penis,

Apologies I pray,

Chance takings will never,

Take home to away.

Flee all these one nighters,

In your tender care,

And take me to heaven,

When better's not there.

Internal Memo: News Guff Spring Holiday Checklist

To All Staff,

I've just gotten off the blower with my agent and he's booked us a cracking two week cruise around the mid-Atlantic, booze included but we'll have to bring our own loo roll.  The boat leaves Portsmouth at a prompt 2pm so I expect you there no later than half-past.  Below is a checklist of things to sort in the office before we go and bon voyage.

- Take up the rubbish.
- Call the asbestos guy.
- Call the asbestos asbestos guy.
- Renew all passports (I'm not spending another week in an Icelandic jail, the reception was cold).
- Turn off the cheese toastie machine.
- Probably best to turn everything off except the calendars.
- Wash the dog, at least he won't be too bad to clean when we get back.
- Feed the pigeons, tuppence a bag.
- Go to print.
- Locate my alarm clock, I'm sick of missing shuffleboard.
- Sort out Robbins' prescription, the pharmacy on board will be light at best and I don't want another Gibralta incident.
- Call the asbestos guy.
- Re-frost the freezer.  We all know the tradition but frankly I seem to be the only one who cares.  The man died for Christ's Sake!
- Call the asbestos guy.

Happy sailing,

Shaky P.


P.S. Robbins, if you get a chance take that damn leopard print bikini out of Jack's bag and burn it otherwise it'll be you who has to get him out of the brig.  I'm still going through the motions from our '96 fishing trip to Utah so if anything goes wrong it's your turn to sort it out.  That's why I'm making you his travel buddy so don't let him out of your sight even for a minute.  And yes that even means when he's on the shitter, you know what he's like.

Internal Memo: FAO: Mr. Mack

Dear 'The Mac',

That's it Jack, you are officially barred from using the staff fridge.  Not only did I find half a Wellington boot lodged firmly into my custard slice but your flagrant disregard for the Marmite policy is proving troublesome.  It's a two to one thing so stop bringing that muck into our canteen.

Not too mention the down right disturbing site of having a cuddly toy staring at me from the top shelf.   If I have to sit through another snack time with the phrase, 'Mr. Cuddles, Protector of the Universe' ingrained on my retinas one more time, I'll kick his ass.

THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE!!! NO MARMITE IN THE FRIDGE!!! 

On a side note your current lack of written material is just plain irritating yet your expense claim for the beach house in Malibu is a site for sore eyes.  We agreed to only abuse the expenses up to a £750,000 limit and now there isn't any cash left to pay off my hooker bill.  If you're going to start skimming cash from the Bosses then you have to let us all know so we can join in.  I hate to sound like the twatty kid at the party but unless you set Robbins and me up with a time-share then we'll have no choice to turn to arson.  It's in the staff handbook so stop fannying about.

And if you've finished with it I need my copy of Bambi back, I'm feeling down and need a pick me up.

Cheers

Shaky