As you all know, Eric Daniels is retiring from Lloyds Banking Group. He is the chief executive, for those of you who don't know. [Why don't you know?] But do you know that he will be leaving with millions and millions of pounds? £13 million altogether. Not a lot of people know that. That's salary, shares, bonus, pension pot, you name it. The Telegraph did - here.
Well, good luck to him! There's no harm in leaving a bank with millions of pounds, is there? Unless you happen to be carrying a sawn-off shotgun and wearing one of your wife's stockings on your head - but that's another matter! Let's not get into that. O Master, the stocking? Although you wouldn't be leaving with millions, of course. Bank robbers are paid nowhere near as much as chief executives. Maybe that's something one of our fucked-up trade unions can look into. Unequal pay - it's a nightmare, ain't it? Something should be done about it.
But back to Mr Daniels. Do you know I haven't written about Eric Daniels before? I've never even mentioned him in passing. Why not?! He's the chief executive of a major bank, and he doesn't merit a mention?! This is an outrage!
O Master, maybe you should do a post on Mr Daniels now, before he gets all upset and starts writing letters to the Times or the Daily Star or the Daily Sport, telling everyone what an absolute bastard you are.
O my child, what do you think this is?
Oh, silly me!
Dear reader, this, here, is my post about Eric Daniels. Long overdue, but better late than never, eh?
Right, let's get down to business. What do we know about Eric Daniels? Well, I suppose I could tell you about his German dad and his Chinese mum - an interesting combination! I could tell you about his years in Panama, Argentina, and Chile, working for Citibank. But I'm not going to tell you about any of that. It doesn't interest me, not even the interesting combination of his parents. I lied about that. (My interest, I mean.) It's just not interesting. Well, maybe a little bit. It's a little bit interesting.
O Master, this isn't going well, is it?
The problem, my child, is that Eric has never really struck me as the mystical type. Can you imagine him with a head of fire [his head] in the astral desert of our love? I can't. And if I'm not able to speak of a banker in mystical terms, I would rather not speak of him/her at all.
Well, good luck to him! There's no harm in leaving a bank with millions of pounds, is there? Unless you happen to be carrying a sawn-off shotgun and wearing one of your wife's stockings on your head - but that's another matter! Let's not get into that. O Master, the stocking? Although you wouldn't be leaving with millions, of course. Bank robbers are paid nowhere near as much as chief executives. Maybe that's something one of our fucked-up trade unions can look into. Unequal pay - it's a nightmare, ain't it? Something should be done about it.
But back to Mr Daniels. Do you know I haven't written about Eric Daniels before? I've never even mentioned him in passing. Why not?! He's the chief executive of a major bank, and he doesn't merit a mention?! This is an outrage!
O Master, maybe you should do a post on Mr Daniels now, before he gets all upset and starts writing letters to the Times or the Daily Star or the Daily Sport, telling everyone what an absolute bastard you are.
O my child, what do you think this is?
Oh, silly me!
Dear reader, this, here, is my post about Eric Daniels. Long overdue, but better late than never, eh?
Right, let's get down to business. What do we know about Eric Daniels? Well, I suppose I could tell you about his German dad and his Chinese mum - an interesting combination! I could tell you about his years in Panama, Argentina, and Chile, working for Citibank. But I'm not going to tell you about any of that. It doesn't interest me, not even the interesting combination of his parents. I lied about that. (My interest, I mean.) It's just not interesting. Well, maybe a little bit. It's a little bit interesting.
O Master, this isn't going well, is it?
The problem, my child, is that Eric has never really struck me as the mystical type. Can you imagine him with a head of fire [his head] in the astral desert of our love? I can't. And if I'm not able to speak of a banker in mystical terms, I would rather not speak of him/her at all.
