Cake[s] & Post

Beefcake in the Post Room

I was watching Ms. Boyle singing an Elaine Page number on You Tube, after reading the library’s Saturday Telegraph.  Since I’ve stopped watching television again, I missed seeing this frumpy perpetual spinster – the Torygraph’s words, not mine - singing in a way that can only be described as magnificent.  Better than Elaine Page, Ms. Boyle is a star and I can only imagine how she would sound with an orchestra in say Carnegie Hall or the Royal Opera House. She has one of the best voices I’ve ever heard.

 see here!

Susan-boyle-four

I got to thinking too about jobs and interviews, apropos, my recent endeavours to seek a permanent position.  Now I must confess that the interviews I’ve attended have all been quite fair over the years but would Ms. Boyle really be able to brake into the musical/media protection racket, looking the way she does?  Now I know she is unemployed – the Telegraph reporter seemed to be clueless that this would limit a gal’s wardrobe somewhat – but it’s the double chin and weird hairdo that would do her down.

About three decades ago, I was working in a typewriter factory and became friends with a guy who was a part-time model. Basically, when he couldn’t get a job, like me, he’d seek temporary work.  We’ve remained close friends to this day, although he hasn’t lived in the UK for yonks now.  Anyway, a few moths later, no months surely, he was telling me how he’d landed a plum job in the city – but you don’t even have O-level maths I whined.  In a nutshell, he’d been propositioned by some guy, agreed to take it up the arse and lost his, eh, cherry.  When he started work, big problem, this guy wouldn’t leave him alone; if he was photocopying something, he’d often feel a hand on his leg or bum.  My friend’s girlfriend found the whole thing hilarious but then she didn’t know the half of it.  In her mind, her highly talented boyfriend had fought off stiff [sic] competition!  My mate eventually resigned because his ‘boss’ changed the job description somewhat, to include some weekend working at the office – just the two of them, of course.

My friend then realized the potential earning power of devastating good looks – no, it’s true – and got jobs in print journalism, graphics, trainee illustrator, area sales manager and night club ‘singer’.  The later two required shagging woman although I don’t suppose it made a blind bit of difference.  Happily settled in Holland now with an older woman, I do recall that he became a rent boy before marrying for a while for money.  Since his wife was really a lesbian, he caught her in the sac once with a chic; I’ve never really figured this one out.

Although my mate is now an industrial software designer earning good money, it really did all start with, um, well you know, don’t you.  Poor Ms. Boyle wouldn’t have got a look in but things are changing for you my dear, go on, go for it, your singing is stupendous and take every opportunity you can; I think you’re smashing.

This sex for jobs business seems to have completely passed me and Ms. Boyle by.  I did sort of come across it while working for the ministry.  There were two deputy managers below me, lets call them Miss X and Miss Y.   Every summer for some odd reason, the post room would become staff less for about three months and it was the custom to hire a student; this was really important because there weren’t emails then.  As the job was quite responsible (and well paid too!) they use to advertise and Miss X and Y would do the honours.  Owing to some rather unusual practices in the past, the personnel department asked if I’d sit in on the interviews.  I have never seen such a Dutch auction in my life.  Miss X liked beefcake and Miss Y like floppy haired Hugh Grant types.  EVENTUALLY, we agreed on a piece of beefcake – I only did this because Miss X was slightly higher in the pecking order than Miss Y – and voila, Miss Y was a tad put out and bombarded mois with a string of complaints on how beefcake wasn’t up to it, blah, blah, blah.  Some colleagues (female) thought that Mr. Beefcake was wonderful while others (female too) sided with Miss Y.  Our floor was in a state of intermittent civil war when Miss X went off to Thailand with her hubby for six weeks.  On the following Monday morning, I came into work to find beefcake gone and a floppy haired public-school type delivering the post in a nonchalant sort of way.  I left it this way until Miss X returned.

On Monday morning at 9 o’clock, Hugh Grant was happily working away.  At 2 o’clock, I noticed that Mr. Grant had disappeared and Miss X said he was ‘sick’.  At 9 o’clock the following day, Mr. Beefcake was back; I then got it, the two were employing their boyfriends or more likely, bits on the side.  Civil war was resuming so I brought in Ms. Boyle, once removed and peace reigned supreme. Thank god employment law was lax in them [sic] days.

See yer.

Andrew