Something Bad Has Happened.

Holidays are bloody rubbish aren’t they?

Honestly. A conversation that took place this week:

Work Colleague: I live for my holidays.

Me: What?

WC: It’s all that keeps me going. I live for my holidays.

Me: What?

WC: It’s what I live for. I just can’t wait each year. I save and save.

Me: Right. Hang on. Your entire existence – everything you do and achieve in life, in- and out-of work, everything you do toward the upbringing of your children , managing to maintain a loving relationship with your chosen partner - when you have children and when it’s massively difficult to relate to each other on an adult level when all that is in play is keeping the little fuckers alive and making sure they won’t do drugs and that - all that. It’s just not important? You live for your holidays?

WC: Well…

Me: Fuck off with your ‘well’. We’ve all had a drink. We’re mates here.

WC: I’m just saying…

Me: Oooh ‘I’m just saying’. Who are you?

WC: Look, it’s late…

Me: Yeah. Too late for you, you twat. You’ve just admitted that your entire yearly existence consists of 50 weeks of shite. That’s it. You work like a cock all year and your reward is two weeks in the sun and a taste of a life you’ll never have. It’s a cruel dream that is thrust upon us by countless tele-vision imbeciles. We do not NEED holidays. Only people who are rubbish or simple need them. Fuck me, we live in the most developed part of the world possible. What is it you feel you need a break from? Sanitation? Roads? Electricity? Prick.

WC: Well…

Me: ‘Well’ yourself you cock. Honestly. Nothing you do throughout your life matches-up to those two weeks in Spain each year? When you drink beer with your breakfast and complain about the lack of Marmite and ‘real’ bacon? You might as well die now.

WC: That it?

Me: For now.

WC: Look mate –

Me: Don’t touch me.

WC: Sorry. When’s the last time you had a holiday?

Me: I took that Friday six months ago.

WC: That doesn’t count. You’re tense. When?

Me: Six years ago. No. Five. Doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you for why. Someone goes on holiday, they have to work like a twat for the two weeks before it, and then have to make sure that all the stuff they can’t do when they’re away is handled by one of their colleagues. So not only do they have to work twice as hard, some poor sap of a cunt has to do the same whilst they’re away. It’s like writing someone else’s blog for them or something.

WC: What?

Me: Nothing. Just. If no-one ever went on holiday, we’d never be quite as over-worked. And not have to listen to ‘Watchdog’-type tales of complete idiocy. You know. ‘Oooh Iraq was really grim, not what it looked like on the brochure.’

Silence.

WC: Six years is too long.

Me: YOU’RE not right.

WC: I’m your boss. Do you like your job?

Me: Ah. I’d forgotten.

Boss [Not Work Colleague at all]: We'll discuss this on Monday.