DPM's diary 27 April 2007

Weekly round up of events at Bodcaster City Council


Attended a Greening IT seminar organised by Marvin Greasewold. The venue chosen was about as far from public transport as it is possible to get without being in rural Burkina Faso, so everyone drove there. "Runs on bio-diesel," I lied to some fellow attendees as I stepped out of the Jag in the car park.

Vegan catering was Marvin's innovative way of offsetting the carbon from the travel. Organic tortilla wraps of bean sprouts with peanut sauce. I lied again, saying that I was allergic to beans. They produced a baked potato with lashings of non-dairy spread as an alternative.

Fortunately, I had a half-eaten bacon sandwich in the glove compartment of the Jag. That and a packet of pork scratchings, which I handed round to the delegates saying they were salted dried cassava produced by a women's collective in Sierra Leone.


Dave is back. Released from Bogcaster General with a belly full of anti-buse and a plea from the ward sister to mend his ways and come back and marry her when he has remained sober for six months. Fat chance. I fancy the Amazon will run dry before Dave does.

Still, we are all morally bound not to push the stuff at him. I am trying to think of an exciting new project to take his mind of it as my resolve has never been that strong.


The morning paper reports that the Amazon is running dry. Come into work to find Dave clean-shaven, smartly turned out and sober.


Management meeting with the new Dave listening intently, making constructive suggestions and not swearing or being abusive.Sickening, I am sure you will agree.

Charlie and I discuss ways we might deal with it. Slipping whisky into his tea seems an obvious solution, but we are overheard by Mavis, who goes into a holier-than-thou rage and threatens to do unattractive things to my gender-specific appendices if Dave falls off the wagon. Suddenly the scenario has changed. Mavis' threats are not to be taken lightly, and she has started to prominently display a pair of rusty bolt-cutters on her desk. I am now fully committed to Dave's rehabilitation.


A deputation comes to my office from the pizza and coke-infested region in the cellar. It's the tech support team. They don't like the new Dave either. He goes home at normal times and has been exhorting them not to spit on the floor, to wash and even (and they hesitated before telling me this) treat the users with respect.

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