An Open Letter From Michael Bolam

This notice is blu-tacked to the staff room door.....

"To: Staff, Ladies, Gentlemen, Rank, File etc.
From: Michael "Mike" Bolam [unofficial head kitchen porter, leader of bins, and bar.]

Now,
I know what you're thinking, "Aw, 'ere we go - another bloody notice about how untidy the staff room is, what'll it be this time?" "Something like, "Believe it or not, fairies do not come into this space after you've gone home and clear away your dirty protests for you."?" "Yeah, the sort of notice that encourages you to drop your trousers and leave one on the table." [that was more of a conversation than what one person was thinking, but I got carried away and sincerely hope no-one actually thinks like that. Not pleasant at all. You should be ashamed of yourselves] Anyway, now, the difference is that this notice doesn't come from the big-wigs, the fancy-Dans in the office with their lunch boxes, apples, condiments and the rest - but from me, your representative if you like. You see I'm one of you - I am leader of bins, but you all get to put stuff in bins - so we're almost equal. I'm going to cut through all the red tape, flim flam and managerial jargon and talk to you ear-to-ear, eye-to-eye & brain-to-brain about THIS ROOM - our lunching environmental haven.

Now, in a few billion years time the sun is going to run out of power. I don't know the details [I'm not a scientist], but it's a bit like a coal fire that slowly goes out because the coal can't last forever. Or an egg-timer when the sand runs into the bottom bit but the sand is energy and we don't get the benefit of what's in the bottom bit only the top bit. Or a candle [yes a candle, should've probably tried this one between the last two, sorry] that goes out when it runs out of candle. You get the picture. So, to recap, the sun, OUR sun, will eventually stop heating and lighting The Earth [like one of the utility companies going bust - that's my second favourite one so far] and we'll have to find somewhere else to go won't we? I know it's a long way off but they'll decide to travel to a new planet eventually - what if there's not enough room for everyone on the spaceship? Take this place as a 'for instance' - that lot in the office will get a ticket [you have to have people to order other people about, that's democracy] and the Vice-Chancellor of course, and Ken the maintenance guy, everybody loves Ken, but what about the rest of us? I can see them giving a written test, there might be a height restriction, "no trouble-makers, non-smokers only", that sort of thing - will you be up to it?

Now, I'm here to give you a helping hand because I know for definite what one of the exam questions will be. We've all seen films where someone is in a spaceship or an airplane flying at high hightetude - what happens when they have a gunfight and a bullet goes through the hull/fuselage/roof/starboard of the plane/ship? YES! The evil one of the two gets sucked through the tiny hole and into the endlessly cold wastes of space. WELL HOW CAN YOU EXPECT TO GET PICKED TO GO ON THE SPACESHIP THAT LEAVES OUR DYING PLANET IF YOU CAN'T BE BOTHERED TO CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR TO THE STAFF ROOM YOU IGNORANT, THUMBLESS, TOSSPOTS?

Now, please sign below to indicate you have read and understood the above notice."

Michael Bolam Writes

You may have read "I, Jed" a few weeks back where we were introduced to Michael "Mike" Bolam. Due to a local bereavement Mike came upon a ticket to Wednesday night's Capital One Cup match between his local side Norwich, and big smoke lah-di-dahs Tottenham Hotspurs. Moved by the experience he decided to put type to paper...

"To:
Ms Delia Smith, Manager and Chief Cook
Norwich City Football Team
Norwich City
Norwich, Norwich
Norfolk
Norwich.

Dear Delia,
Please call me Mike. Now, Delia my love, last night I got to see the team playing Tottingham and I'll tell you it's been a while! Luckily my ticket was free [it's what chipshop Steve would've wanted] otherwise you could've whistled for £30, especially as it wasn't The World Cup [as promised by Kevin at work]. Now, I found the seating position adequate enough, Delia, and the game was alright - but it's half-time where things went a bit south. Where was the brass band? Where was the bloke who used to chuck peanuts at you? Where was the "wear your colours!" man? I was narked enough by their absence to seek the bar, Delia - I don't mind telling you. More disappointment. Now, I like a drink, Delia, but whither [or 'wherever was' if you prefer] the 'K'? You not heard of 'K'? I know, I know you have the local ales and that but they aint got the kick [if you'll pardon the pun] of a 'K'. I take mine with a chaser from the trusty hip-flask but that's by-the-by. Pork pies - unseasoned, Delia! Luckily I always carry sachés of salt, pepper, vinegar, tomato ketchup, 'Daddies, Delia, 'DADDIES', mayonnaise and a little bottle of sweet chilli sauce too [because you never know].

When that other lot scored I pissed off - this was valuable drinking time at 'The 'Horses' I was missing - but I did sneak a look at your kitchens, Delia. Now, A dickie bird told me that your extraction system hasn't had a good deep-clean for two weeks, Delia. Now, I don't like to strum my own banjo but extractions is my middle name - you ask the fellas at 'Zaks'! You ask the head chef at the Wensum Valley Kentucky Fried! Now, I could be in and out of your gaff in two hours, Delia - I figure one hour on the canopy, one hour on the inner layer - as long as we're talking strictly cash-whistle-whistle-know-what-I-mean or a ticket to the United game and a couple of 'K's. I'm dead reliable, never smoke outdoors and since my ban the license has been completely point-free. Deal?

Yours in anticipation,
Michael "Mike" Bolam

P.S. Are you married? We're both men of the world and of that uncertain age after all, so no need for us to go through the embarrassed fumblings of a first date at a Berni Inn or such - what do you reckon? I've enclosed a picture but please remember it was the Christmas party and I was on painkillers too."