Various potato-heads, beerbellies and other repulsive Invesco guys continued to slag me off about sex with Mark Rowberry day in day out. By June 2001 I was fed up with the salaried humanoids of Invesco, so I went to Andrew Brownfoot, who was the head of the Department to take up the issue of sexual hate at work. Andrew Brownfoot had lived and worked in the area for over twenty years. So, his verdict was "Joanna don't do one night stands in Henley, they are idiots, and don't go paranoid every time people laugh that they are laughing at you" that second bit was going to be very prophetic.
Mark had already told me to fuck off to please Elisabeth, now it was the Regatta Week, early July and Simon the Dentist's girldfriend I think had her birthday and there was that very gregarious builder there Paul Jackson bringing more and more champagne cocktails. So, I decided to kiss him to get rid of the Mark Rowberry jinx. Now, they tried to manufacture a scandal about this but it didn't work. Paul Jackson slept over at my house, the benefit was that there were two toilets so we could throw up at the same time. we had way too many units, so it was vomit festival first thing back at my place. Then we blacked out as soon as we hit the bed, and next day I woke up and he was sleeping on the floor on top of a broken lampshade. How can a guy manage to sleep on the lampshade was beyond me. Did he fall off the bed or did I kick him off? Anyway, we had a morning coffee, and he told me about his two girlfriends.
Next thing, it was the Invesco summer party at Farrington, around the 8th of August, where a tall and handsome guy pulled me. He walked me back home, it was 2.30 in the morning, he wanted sex, I asked him how old he was, he was 11 years younger than me, so I decided no sex, and actually I told him I am not having sex with you because then you will stop talking to me. He said why should I do that? and at that moment there was a knock at the door, it was Mark Rowberry's cunts wanting to inspect the situation. To snoop into my personal life and report back to Mark Rowberry like the good arselickers they are. I kissed the guy goodnight, and sent them all away.
Guess what at Invesco? Within the next 48 hours, the humanoids had spread around that there was a new "conquest" on my part. Then I see the Head of Human Resources of Invesco coming out of the main building with the tall and handsome "conquest" of mine, giving him advice. Of course, the "conquest" never talked to me again after the tete-a-tete with the Head of Human Resources. I was staring at this scrawny and puny, with facial hair and thick glasses ugly and revolting Invesco fatcat whispering and whispering and looking my way, and I was wondering what's a handsome guy like that taking advice from this ugly obnoxious bloke? Do I care about the "conquest"? No. Do I give a dime? No.
In retrospect I have huge regrets about the Human Resources ugly monkey who was so eager to do dick management. I didn't know that some men are cunts back then, secret women hiding in male bodies with obsessive hate against communication lines with attraction. The ugly head of Human Resources was a humanoid who attacked what he hates most. He was dreadfully upset that I might pull a handsome guy, and like the secret rotten vagina that he is, he jumped in to cut off the attraction. Did I give a fuck about the handsome guy ? No.
That's where I really really confused the issue. It was a huge mistake on my part not to grab the Head of Human Resources and slap him around in front of everybody, right there near the Fountain.
So much regret about that nasty cunt. This rotten vagina with the facial hair and the glasses was getting between 60-80K plus bonuses to shove his repressed hate into my personal life! What a waste of money!
That's where I should have done a scandal. I should have thrown a tantrum and a hissy fit and yell to that ugly fatcat to go fuck himself!
Politeness in Britain is a suicidally wrong attitude.
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