Further to the pothole post, while bobbing round the Web-a-Net, I ran – pun? – into a piece relating to the marking, by a glorious council, of car parking areas on a street.
I linked to the piece in response to a comment to the pothole piece by the good Caratacus and wondered why it didn’t dawn on the charge-hand painter that he should possibly contact his boss before actually doing the painting. Below is his response to that strange notion of mine:
Caratacus (for it is he, speaking unto a mobile phone): "Steve - who did the measurements for Highfield Road?"
Steve: (sigh) "Alan. Why is there a problem?"
C: "Just a bit. Get him to come down here, would you? Now. No - now. I'm going to get the chaps tea and stickies ... they think it's brilliant. F*** knows what they're putting on Facebook"
S: (a groan ... and another one) "Please, don't. I'll pick him up and we'll be down there in ten minutes. Pardon?"
C: "Sorry Steve - that wasn't me that was Mr ... Frost? Yes, Frost (thank you) from No.12. He's ... yes, OK Mr. Frost, no, no .. I suppose it's not so blanky funny at all. And you make your point commendably well if I may say so. Steve? - see you in a bit"
I guess council contracts just cover the basics; turn up for work roughly on time; knock off roughly at the time specified; take roughly an hour for lunch; ensure smartphone is on and logged onto Face-brick. And obviously nothing in their pre-job meeting relating to the need to engage brain to avoid pain.
The article makes no mention of causalities amongst the paint crew during the execution of this job so we must assume that, upon completion of the ‘project’ and against all the odds, they managed to extricate themselves from the street alive and intact.
The whole exciting story can be found under this bit in blue.
Quote; Jean de La Fontaine.
“A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.”
No comments:
Post a Comment