Bully for me as the bleeding hearts get a lesson in hard knocks

Bullying? Bullying? What do you mean there's an explosion of bullying in the workplace?

When I read that on the editorial schedule it was all I could do not to throw the features editor across the room. Again.

What's all that pathetic public whingeing about then? Namby pamby little softies who wouldn't last five minutes in the SAS, never mind a crack frontline news operation like this one.

thrust Some people just can't take the cut and thrust of modern employment, where let's face it, the enemy lurks behind every computer terminal, ready to knife his or her fellow co-worker in the shoulderblades. Metaphorically speaking. Usually.

group hugs You see, newspapers are no place for bleeding heart liberals wanting to enjoy group hugs in the corridors. These people should become social workers and form folk groups where no-one minds the unwarranted facial hair. Even amongst the men.

But they don't belong in the real world - where innocent young newshounds in their first jobs can make one simple mistake, then find themselves hauled over the coals by editors who couldn't believe ANYONE could have been taken in by a convincing hoax phone call saying they had unearthed the secret diaries of the Queen Mum in her 'swinging' days. Doh!

slingbacks And then get told they'll never be fit to clean Anne Robinson's investigative slingbacks. That's the kind of episode that could scar a young man for life - unless, of course, he turned out to be of extraordinary character and talent. (You may be picking up the autobiographical undertones here) And who then had the supreme pleasure of watching the selfsame old fart editor carried out of the Rotary Club by stretcher when a strip-o-gram called Candy unexpectedly turned up at the AGM and asked for him by name.

Sometimes true ability finds its own short circuit to success. I knew I wasn't destined to write obituaries forever, though I did enjoying writing that last one. I really think I did him proud; 20 years in the Rotary club apparently.

Naturally I come down very hard on bullying these days. It's a lesson my father taught me early on, and I've had reason to remember it every day of my life. He said 'Son, always get your retaliation in early, because you're a vicious little b'stard no-one will ever like, and it'll save you fighting them fair and square later'.

Wise words, Dad, wherever you are.

scrawny Obviously my range is better with the lighter office equipment. And objects with aerodynamic qualities (like that scrawny fashion editor) can travel quite a distance. I reckon I could fire Posh Spice up to 40ft on a day when I'm suffering a bad bout of EMS (Editor's Mood Swings).

Civilians think the newspaper game is all glamour. But it's my experience of the hard commercial world I think Sam Galbraith is looking to bring into schools with this special business task force he's considering. I've put my name in, obviously. It's down to guys like me to pass on the flaming torch of knowledge to the next generation. That's if the tiny tearaways aren't too doped up to grasp it in their sticky little hands. Honestly though, I can't leave the Porsche in some of those schemes. Sam will have to borrow Sue Deacon's new Merc for me. Looked quite nice in the pictures.

You know, the burden of social responsibility never lightens really. I've just learned to bear it with good grace.

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