Travels down the Amazon

Usually, I like to start with a musical reference. I am stuck with the Amazon. Literally. Until Christmas.

Santa's warehouse has engaged my wit and bonhomie, and perhaps 'picking' skills, to help furnish the children of the world with delight in the early morning of the Nativity. But the delight won't be up as early as I am, children. I am working nights, days and coffees-breaks to furnish you with your desires.

Tips for the top this year appear to be: anything One-D, a novel about something with Cockroaches in the title, and Kindles. Bundles of Kindles. Bloody bundles of Kindles. When I mean literally I refer to books, not bloody Kindles.

Still, they pay good temporary wages at Amazon. Jobs for jubblies. If one can hit the percentage productivity rate one can keep one's job: otherwise, adios!. Or adeus!, depending which part of the Basin from which you emanate. Luckily for the Poles they have never heard of South America, so it does not matter that the language is Latin rather than Slav.

Unsurprisingly, there are Poles everywhere. Most of the second-tier operational management is Polish. We obviously have a problem with employment in this country: the English have forgotten that work means getting your hands dirty. One never sees a Polish worker complaining about hard work. Consequently, the English have lost out; as have those who claim British nationality. You don't get paid just for turning up. Unless you are a Premiership footballer.

I have substantial knowledge of the warehouse world, or  'Fulfilment Centre' - spelt with a double L, if you are from the US of Idiots and cannot speak English. There may well be some justification for the BBC 'Panorama' programme recently broadcast but the salient point is that it is a job, temporary, and no-one goes into it without being told it is damned hard long hours at the 'coal-face'. And it is not a 'coal-face': compared to mining it is a piece of piss.

Shut up, do the job, work your hours and claim your Christmas bonus. No-one told it you it would be easy. Sixteen miles a night if you are good; eight if you are crap. And I am twice your age.

      Inspirational management from the School of Old Brize. Ha ha ha!

Best thing about it is the craic. The staff have a disparate background - socially, economically, geographically and educationally. But there is a camaderie that surpasses the pain in your tired feet.

My training group have made friends, work and break together, talk loudly, and generally make the job a lot easier. Pretty-Boy is already being stalked by a Polish line-manager; Ear-Lobe Extender is cracking onto every manager he can find; the Bradford Graduate is chinning into the white girls, and Old Brize is ring-mastering the drivel.

There is so much scope for a romp. I think after the first 60 hours even the permanent staff are wondering where we came from...the energy comes from making the job a joke. Too many people are too serious about a stupid job, or are BBC investigators with no idea what work is really about.

Pity is that they play Heart FM all through after closing R1FM at mid-night. Those 'classic' sounds of the 1980s. Excuse me whilst I take a toilet break. I am going to spoon the system and play some Northern and Funky 70s because that will spook the spooks into action.

It's my voodoo working. Amongst other things. Rest well, tonight, knowing that your presents will all be delivered on time and in pristine condition. I cannot keep a straight face, sorry! xxx