Toads

"Why should I let the toad work squat on my life?" asked Philip Larkin. Often, when you're completing the same meaningless spreadsheet for the 19th time, fully aware that no-one is ever going to look at it, it's tempting to see his point.

I used to have a mini routine in my stand up which went, "Would anyone really notice if you didn't complete that spreadsheet? Would it really matter if you didn't go into the office tomorrow? Would anyone even care if you fell off the face of the earth? (pause) My line manager said to me this morning. Well, that gets my annual review out of the way."

But the question remains: why should I let the toad work squat on my life? For me the answer is actually pretty simple: shiny things. I like shiny things. In order to procure shiny things, I generally have to exchange magic beans. Or money, as it's sometimes called. I've found that the toad work is reasonably efficacious in producing magic beans. And magic beans produce shiny things.

It's my last day at the current toad pond, and with five days off before commencing work with my new employers and experiencing the next round of amphibious delights, I suppose I'm technically unemployed, or toad-free for the next few days. And, owing a spectacular cock-up with my final pay packet, I'm also going to be reasonably magic-bean free for the next month. Hey ho.

What I really need to do is find a way of producing magic beans without the involvement of toads. Or fairy godmothers or the lottery. Suggestions on a postcard, please.