all's well that ends well, illustrated

Yesterday, there was a very ugly scene.

Maybe our Acting Project Manager was emotionally scarred at some kind of fee paying school in his tender years. Certainly, he decided to cope with our mutiny by behaving like an unenlightened head master in the 19th century. Did he really imagine we'd burst into tears and beg him not to tell our parents? He looked very taken aback to be told to stop being so fucking stupid, anyway. A great deal of shouting ensued. I did a lot of it, I regret to say. Hmm.

Now all is well. Pad and I discussed matters last night, and considered giving notice; but this morning we appear to have won - the facilities at the new training centre are - hey presto! - splendid. Maybe they would have been like that anyway, without the need for all the shouting. This is the land of 'maybe' and 'no problem'. I doubt it. We'll never know. Still, a good shouting match clears the custard.

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