Dear Donna,
I’VE got a high-profile job, which I admittedly lucked into, that I’ve done pretty well for eight years. I’m not the best in the world or even in Europe but I am second-best in Europe and my bosses like me.
However, there is a public-facing element to the role. And the public, to be brutal, f**king hates me. Sorry for the profanity. Bit of a locker-room atmos where I work.
They’re emotionally invested in my employers product and believe, fervently, I am the sole barrier to it achieving unprecedented international success. Accordingly they want me decapitated and my mouth and eye-sockets stuffed with salt. Should I resign?
Gary of London
Donna replies: You f**king wanker. You dare ask me for advice? After what you did?
Yes, ‘Gary’, I know it’s you. We all do. We’d recognise that cringing tone, too afraid to drop Kane, too intimidated to play Gordon, anywhere. It haunts English nightmares.
Piss off, in case you hadn’t got the message. Go and manage someone at your level, I recommend starting at Ashton United and working your way down.
Without you we’ll hire a proper manager, someone brilliant who we’ve not identified yet, who will take us the next step up and we’ll win the next one, possibly even the next four. That’s how much you’ve held us back.
Sensible grey-flecked beard bastard. We’re getting someone continental and he’ll be gorgeous and play Eze as a false nine. You should be exiled to the Pitcairn Islands.
