Oi you lot! Awright! Yer, s’me, Soimon, guvvner up the HR. As yer know, oi’m from Essex, the fahkin best coun’y in Engerland. S’why oi always ’ave me ’olidays dahn Sahfend.
Naaw, open yer lugoles cos oi’ve gotta few fings to say. Since takin over this manor, oi’ve bin wotchin you lot, you wiv yer poncey degrees and namby-pamby PhDs. You lot are givin me the hump. Yer know why? Cos yer teechin is shit. Naaw, oi ain’t done no teechin’, oi ain’t got no teechin qualifikashuns, dahn’t know nuffin abaht teechin actshully. So’s oi’m to’ally unbiased and can say yer shite.
An’ ta proove it, yer gonna get observed an’ yer’ll get a crap score an’ then the boot. Then me an’ Clarry, who’s a bit mingin but oi would, will hire a bunch of HPLs on the minmum wage to do all the work. Then we’ll get the board o’ guvvners to ’and us out a massive bleedin pay rise. Luvverly jubbly.
Oi’m gonna close a few rubbish departments an’ all. Whassa point of ’istory? Oi mean, oi dun’t even remember yesterdie. An’ as fer Maffs, werl, oi was always crap at it sos we’ll chuck that aht the windah.
Naaw oi’ve got you lot sor’ed, oi’m off dahn the pub for a pinta Stella.