Record Reconstructor

Dashboard! On the balcony amphitheatre seating at Manchester Academy, a row back from the balustrade which separates us from the crowded standing room only dancefloor below, a group of young adults are sat in front of us;  well, mostly sat - the four young women, in patch covered bomber jackets, denim skirts, stripey tights, are on the edge of the seated section below us, but their friend, a young man in a v-neck black shirt and artfully tousled hair, leans against one of the balcony posts near the small set of stairs.  As Orla Gartland on stage below brings another song to a close, I see one of the young women turn round to address us.  For a moment, I clench up, wondering what confrontation I'm about to get dragged into.   "Do you mind if me and my friends stand up?" Friends, it's possible if you've been reading this blog (haven't quite managed to scare people off enough to get to single figures yet, but we are getting closer) you're under the impression...

Dashboard! I'm fortunate in that I don't have a physically taxing job.  I don't break rocks for a living, I don't have to spend time on my feet, I'm not practising medicine or fighting fires, I don't have to interact with the public much and I don't have to try and wrangle unruly classrooms of children like Catherine does.  I can generally do my job sat in a relatively comfortable chair while listening to music.  But sometimes, my friends, my job can be a real pain.  This is in part because I have a job with a reasonable level of responsibility, there are people who care about what I do and it affects them in a material way;  me making bad choices in my job could, butterfly-effect style, lead to people losing their own jobs, or the company itself being in jeopardy.  Also, I like to be right, like to convince people I am right, like to feel like I am contributing.  But when its end-of-financial-year time in my job, everyone loses their minds, and I feel...