If old crowny on the stamps can have two birthdays, then so shall I.

I signed up to Twitter a year ago today.

I remember doing it. I was sat on the hardest seat in the world in the hospital canteen whilst my mum was asleep hearing piped songs of cheer and smelling melted plastic wrapped food.

I remember I signed up simply for the fear of the fact that I just didn't understand it.

I had no idea it would change my world. I am aware of how ridiculously over dramatic that sounds, but it really has.

Some things bereavement has taught me.

I wanted to pen something as I am learning to steer my course through what I suspected to be one of the toughest things in my life, but this journey isn’t the one I anticipated.  Or to be more precise, it is not the one I think Hollywood had lead me to expect.

Yes, losing my mum is rotten, and yes leukemia is a snide bastard and yes watching someone you love going through chemo is like watching someone attempt to fix your precious watch with a sledge hammer; but my world did not implode on itself when my mum died in my arms.  

THE PENURY OF THE BONUS - guest post by Papa HeardinLondon (a relative point of view)

Bonus payments are miss-named. They are performance payments and are calculated on a formula based on the difference between expected minimum performance and the higher achievement of the person paid.

Who then decides the minimum performance criteria? How is such measured? Why is it possible for someone to so far exceed expectations year-on-year that he can reasonably expect to be paid several hundred percent more for merely doing his job, which in nearly every case is already hugely rewarded by stratospheric basic pay?


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