Work colleagues

Don't you just love 'em?

I'm not talking about the ones where the relationship stops just short of open warfare, as you jostle for prestige and promotion.

Or the ordinary back-stabbers.

Or even the seriously irritating incompetent ones.

No, I'm talking about the nice helpful ones - who are just lacking that bit of confidence.

They are hard-working, bright, probably not highly-qualifed but with some good exam results. And they help you get your job done.

Great. And when you try and encourage them to move up and on, or ask for more pay, they don't want to know. They are grateful for their job.

Anyway you keep helping them out. Advice, chat in the pub, whatever.

So how come one day they are on more than twice what you ever earned, and haven't spoken to you for years?

To be honest, I don't know to this day if it was a serious clever well-contrived plan that she had over the years, or just right place, right woman, right moment. And big eyes.

Anyway little sweetheart, wherever you are (and it won't be reading my blog), I'm dead pleased you've got on so well, and I do hope I helped you on the way a bit.

You've got the power, the glory - and even the honour - everything you probably ever wanted.

Shame you've always been so short and fat really, and your face is plastered with more make-up than you could slap on with a trowel.

And yes, I do feel an idiot for helping you out. I know I'm not the only one though. Wonder who you help these days? Apart from yourself. Wonder who you ever helped really?

I'm not busting my fat behind (well, mine isn't and never has been, unlike yours) running round after someone else, to get that extra buck, that pension, that golden handshake, and that seat on the board.

And it's me that's sitting here looking at the Mediterranean, in the sun, doing exactly what I want. Every day.