Seven legitimately insane thoughts you have when taking a day off sick

RESEARCH has found that the older you are, the guiltier you feel about taking time off sick. And it can definitely cause some deeply irrational thoughts, like these:

‘It’s morally wrong’

Does taking a day off sick even count as a moral or immoral act? Not unless you’re skiving off to commit a murder, in which case you’ve got more to worry about than what your boss thinks. Also, disposing of a body would be horrendous with this cold.

‘I must sound ill on the phone’

When phoning in sick, it’s almost impossible not to put on a feeble voice and give a little cough to prove your case. It’s unnecessary and frankly a bit silly. What’s next? A video call while you’re sitting on the toilet making vile noises to prove you’ve got a tummy upset?

‘Will I get the sack?’

The classic paranoid sickie thought. Get a grip and imagine your boss explaining it to their boss: ‘A staff member I have no real complaints about, who takes a normal amount of time off sick, claimed to have a flu-like illness common in the UK, so I fired them.’ ‘Excellent work, Emma, that’s how to run an effective business.’

‘I am betraying my co-workers’

Yes, Gavin and the others are heroically battling through a normal workload while you fail to do your duty like a coward. Oh, hang on, you’re an office worker, not a squaddie abandoning your mates to die in a Taliban attack. You wouldn’t need to lose weight if you were.

‘Will someone come and check on me?’

Might your boss dispatch a colleague to your home? Not unless they are deranged and seriously overstaffed, and even then it’s probably illegal harassment. Your ill, paranoid brain can’t accept this, so you do the sensible thing of sitting away from a window and trying to look miserable instead of laughing at the comforting YouTube shite you’re watching.

‘I wish I had a more serious illness’

Are you ill enough to justify taking time off? It’s a question you’ll be obsessed with for hours, until you wish you were suffering from something clear-cut like a broken leg. Hopefully your next sickie will be the result of being hit by a car, you reason. Your horrific injuries will mean you can relax then.

‘They’ll discover they don’t need me’ 

Could your job actually be done by your colleagues, and you’re paid tens of thousands of pounds a year unnecessarily? Clearly ‘yes’, because modern companies are notorious for employing way more staff than they need. That’s why they keep you entertained at work with dancing girls and an office jester.

Sign up now to get
The Daily Mash
free Headlines email – every weekday
privacy

Forget Diana? Nonsense. I still remember every single man she was adulterous with

By Norman Steele, former tabloid journalist and divorcee

I COULD never forget Diana. Her radiance, her kindness, her compassion, and the identity of every man with whom she violated the sanctity of her marriage.

‘We’ll forget her soon enough,’ or so her brother says Charles callously told him. Nonsense. Forget the Princess of Hearts? Forget England’s Rose? Why, I can’t even forget Oliver Hoare.

Don’t pretend the name isn’t familiar. Oliver Hoare, the married art dealer who received many, many late-night anonymous heavy-breathing calls from Kensington Palace, apparently 300 in one evening? If all of us had been so lucky.

And the name of James Gilbey cannot fail but to trigger reminiscence. Squidgygate? The tape of their conversation in which she bore the charming nickname Squidge, for entirely innocent non-genital reasons?

Though of course he is overshadowed in our collective memory by James Hewitt, the dashing polo player who whacked the ball of his devotion into the open goal of Diana’s heart. Such a wonderful head of red hair he had, I remember particularly for no reason.

Also there was Barry Mannakee, her protection officer, and England rugby captain Will Carling, and oh, such a Proustian rush of recollection on just hearing those names. JFK Jr, Bryan Adams, each one so evocative of times of happiness now long gone.

So forget your ‘forget Diana’, Charles. I have not forgotten a single one of her lovers and often spend whole evenings, curtains drawn, imagining I am one of those so blessed. And so, I firmly believe, does the British public.