Woman instigates performance review for family

A WOMAN has introduced an annual performance review for her husband and children, noting that in most areas they are ranked as requiring urgent action for improvement. 

Wife, mother and HR manager Emma Bradford brought the system in to foster long-term advances to her family structure, including a system of verbal warnings, written warnings and possible dismissal.

She said: “A new fiscal year is approaching, which is the ideal time for reflection, resolution and the rigorous application of a point-based performance assessment.

“I’m seeing Nathan and the kids in a series of one-on-one face-to-face meetings, with a printed review of their abilities and achievements across 20 core behaviours.

“Nathan is ‘needs development’, which is disappointing, but he can improve by following the simple points in his personalised Performance Improvement plan, beginning with the recycling.

“Teddy is six but definitely falling short. I use open questions to invite him to contribute, such as, ‘Do you think the bath towels live on the bathroom floor?’

“Nobody’s reached ‘exceeds expectations’. I’ve explained I want to help them reach their full potential by following the SMART goals that I’ve set for the upcoming six months.”

Husband Nathan said: “We’re considering a restructure. Emma will be invited to re-apply for her role, but it’s a rigorous process against outstanding candidates.”

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How to gaze down at the ruins of your own blasted genitalia, by BBC chairman Richard Sharp

by BBC chairman Richard Sharp

VERY few people know what it’s like to look down and see your own genitals in irrevocable ruin. Largely it’s men at war and, after this weekend, me. 

Up until last week? I was cocky about what I had down there. I had swagger in my walk as I strutted around Broadcasting House, hiring and firing, cancelling shows on whim.

Why wouldn’t I be? My dad’s a baron. I spent 30 years as king of the investment banking world then became chairman of the motherf**king Beeb. Did I have any relevant experience? Hell no. But I wanted it. So I got it.

Sure, there was a minor kerfuffle about my recommending Boris Johnson for a loan, but it was all a bit arcane, he’s no longer prime minister, and it would all soon be forgotten. Or so I, and my frontal fruitbowl, believed.

A mere tweet from a mere sports presenter? I delegated that. The director general, a good lad who firmly backs impartiality in the Tories’ favour, could handle it. If the presenter in question refuses to apologise? He will discover the consequences.

Such was my belief when I still had a cock. But now, fewer than 72 hours later, it seems I was entirely wrong and my private parts are as rubble.

I won’t recover. No more will I be the swinging dick of state-owned media. The scrutiny of my shattered scrotum will end only with my resignation. A bunch of ex-footballers and 5 Live presenters have absconded, laughing, with my meat and veg tucked beneath their arms.

Appointed to control the news, I have become it. Emasculated before my peers and the nation, Johnson has done for me and my johnson. There’s nothing left but shreds.

Let this be a warning. For there, but for lifelong privilege, being awarded a job without any experience or expertise, and f**king up mightily due to arrogance and hubris, go we all.