I've been sent some photos of the recent class reunion. The bad news is that the biggest basturn now looks incredibly well-preserved. The good news is my old friend from my teenage years, whom I last saw when I was 17, looks well-preserved in the sense of having spent a lifetime pickling himself. Hats off to him though, it must have taken a lot of stamina. It would be disloyal of me to post the photo.
Albert used to defend capitalism as the least worst system ever, but the big banks have been an eye-opener, and as a protest he now keeps his gold bars in a hole in the garden. But Albert's about to experience business ethics at first hand. His employer is playing hardball with its thousands of staff, bringing in a specialist hatchet man to eff everyone around until half of them get pissed off enough to leave. Avoids paying redundancy money. The background is even more sordid and devious, and probably best told in an email. I don't want to cause Albert even more grief.
Meantime, Albert says his viewing tonight will include a documentary called My Strange Addiction: "A thirty-one-year-old woman has been addicted to sleeping with her blow dryer since she was eight years old, and another woman has admitted to eating half a roll of toilet paper every day." He's going to tape it for me.