Being self-employed, the first step was to picket myself from my own home office. Well, actually, the first step was to have the usual cup of coffee and a smoke in the sunshine outside. But straight away after that, I picketed my office and brandished a banner at myself every time I even contemplated going in to do some work.
I've never crossed a picket line in my life, but all the computers in the house were in the office, so I couldn't even get onto Facebook to see how my fellow strikers were spending the day on Facebook. I remonstrated with myself at this outrageous restriction on my own freedom of movement. After heated dialectical debate, I and I took the protest onto the street, where at least I could smoke while shouting slogans at myself. The mood got ugly, and the neighbours became alarmed. It seems the noise I was creating during my entirely legitimate protest was disturbing them from their day off. Thank heavens for community policing, as officers were able to mount a fully proportionate response and calm me down before I nutted myself.
During the afternoon, I'm glad to report that I was able to persuade myself that the sensible, adult way forward was to get round a table with myself to thrash out the issues in a civilised manner. Obviously I and I couldn't agree on a suitable table in my own workplace, so we settled on a table on neutral ground owned by a third party. I believe Greene King own the pub, and I and I thank them for hosting the negotiations at the very reasonable price of £2.30 a pint.
The talks continue, and may do so for some time.
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