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\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Managers are mystics. Must be because they\u2019re always telling the people who work for them about their fucking vision<\/em>. Their fucking vision for the company<\/em>, that is. Their fucking vision<\/em> for the company<\/em> always a trigger for what they call revised practices<\/em>. A catchy little phrase meaning whatever your job was before, you\u2019ve now got to do a shedload more of it. Only what you\u2019re now doing a shedload more of isn\u2019t called what it used to be called prior to their fucking vision for the company<\/em>, no. Now it\u2019s called something else. Something a lot fancier, though the truth is it doesn\u2019t pay any better, it\u2019s just a lot more of the same old, same old: that\u2019s more, more, fucking more.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 With so much more to do it\u2019s no wonder I feel fucking battered at the end of every workday: hollowed out, a ghost of myself – except on Friday night when I hit Broad Street.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 ALL DRINKS \u00bd PRICE B411 say the signs outside the clubs but that\u2019s not what draws me in, a half-priced drink or two, not what stops me feeling fucking battered, no way, no how. No, movement is what does it, movement what counts: I\u2019m talking head, body, hands, feet, I\u2019m talking dipping, swirling, turning, I\u2019m talking, fast, slow, on the beat, off it, I\u2019m talking being inside every move and at the same time watching myself from the outside – none of which has anything to do with half-price drinks.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Some tunes are old favourites. Some are brand new. To me it makes no never mind: simply, the tunes come at me, and I move: I move and the dark moves with me, holds me in its arms, is a mirror reflection of me.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Only it\u2019s not only me, no. It\u2019s all of us. All of us move to the music. All of us are pierced by it. All of us are impaled by its foreverness, yes. Though I always go alone, I\u2019m packed in with the rest, a seething mass, love what I feel for every one of us because of this shared thing we\u2019re doing in the strobe-lit dark which, till they kill the tunes and turf us out, helps me escape the management visionaries and their more, more, fucking more, gets them out of my head and from under my skin, fucking saves me, yes, at least for a little while.<\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Saves me for a little while and makes me sad at the same time, I should say. Makes me sad because by saving me for a little while it lets me carry on with the more, more, fucking more. Makes me sad because I can\u2019t help thinking that if at work enough of us moved together like we\u2019re moving now, maybe managers couldn\u2019t keep battering us with their fucking vision for the company<\/em>. Why, I think, as I move to the music, I ought to try talking to the people I work with again. Why, I think, maybe Monday, I will, maybe Monday I will.\u00a0 \u00a0<\/p>\n