April 9th, 2025
Howdy folks!
Welcome to my first ever blog post. I’m not sure how this is meant to be written but, here goes! I’ll start by making a simple confession: I’m not a big fan of endlessly wet days and depressingly grey skies.
So, this year, instead of enduring yet another long winter in England, I have decided to spend most of my time in Spain. Valencia, to be precise.
And yes, you could be forgiven for muttering under your breath: ‘Cor! What a jammy little git!’ And yes, I wouldn’t blame you for doing so. But we only live once, don’t we?
Right… now I’ve fessed-up, I can invite you to picture the scene …
It was three days ago. I was sat in the Turia gardens in Valencia. For those who haven't visited, it is a riverbed that the local council turned into a beautiful park some years ago for the use of the residents.
Anyway, I was sipping my ice-cold beer whilst reflecting upon the ease in which I seemed to have slipped into the Spanish lifestyle. I was thinking how grateful I am to have the freedom to flit back and forth between Yorkshire and Spain. So, there I was, feeling chuffed with myself, when… suddenly, out of nowhere, they appeared. A flock of them!
I say, ‘A flock.’ I’m not quite sure what the collective noun for a group of corporate employees is. A 'synergy' of managers? An 'action-item' of executives? Whatever they were, they were marching towards the Caixa Forum building with the unmistakable look of people about to embark upon a mandatory team-building exercise.
From attending similar events throughout my teaching career, I felt I could make a qualified guess as to what they were in for. Within minutes, they’d be asked to: ‘Turn to the person on your left and find out three things you don’t already know about them.’
Next, they’d probably be tasked with building a bridge out of dry spaghetti and marshmallows. Or maybe, attempting to catch Dave from Accounts in a trust fall as he stumbles and rips his favourite corduroy trousers.
But it wasn't their forced cheerfulness that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. No. It was actually what they were wearing around their necks that did it.
The corporate dog collar. That woven nylon strip of oppression. You know the exact type… complete with the little plastic safety-break clip at the back, just in case you lean too close to the office shredder and accidentally file yourself under 'D' for Deceased.
I always found them to be such an unnecessary nuisance, especially when leading physical activities such as outdoor pursuits or sporting events. We all knew who everyone was; yet, staff were still expected to spend their working days tagged like prize cattle at a slightly depressing agricultural show.
Anyway, as I watched this group shuffle off to do some 'blue-sky thinking' indoors I contemplated the actual blue sky above. A wave of profound, magnificent relief washed over me. I took another long sip of my ice-cold beer and smiled to myself.
There and then, I pulled out my pad and pen from my rucksack and began scribbling notes.
The sheer contrast between my sunny sense of freedom and the flock’s leashed existence had got my creative juices flowing.
The Corporate Collar
I remember the days of the verbal exchange,
When asking a name wasn’t considered deranged.
You’d use your mouth … that fleshy, pink hole,
To establish rapport … to reach someone’s soul.
But now folk are all branded, like cattle in a pen,
The woven nylon leash of the modern-day men.
A plastic-wrapped pendulum, swinging low,
Telling the world what they already know.
“Hi, I’m Dave,” says the tag on his chest,
Strapped to a man, who is feeling depressed
Death of the Introduction … marks the end of the chat,
A corporate collar for a white-collared brat.
It’s Woke-ism wrapped in a safety-break clip,
In case one feels tempted to give it a rip.
A Thatcherised workforce … too gagged to ask: Why?
Silently screaming their lanyard-clad cry!
