Public Apology

To Dave.

I’m really sorry.

Really, proper, sorry.

Like, the sort of sorry you get when you’re showing a hamster to a child and accidentally squeeze it to hard and burst it 30cm in front of a childs face.

PROPER sorry.

I’ve said a lot of mean, untrue things to you in the past, and I want it made public that I am truly sorry for most of them. You didn’t deserve the majority of them, as the bulk of things were untrue.

I didn’t realise how hurtful some of the things that I said were, until you decided you could no longer work in the same building as me, and left.

Not only did you leave work in annoyance, but you left the country too. In fact, I annoyed you so much that you left Europe all together, and now live in Canada.

The only way I feel I can apologise properly is if I list the things that I am sorry about. So please find below a thorough, but by no means conclusive, list of things I am really sorry about.

I was wrong to suggest that you would be the outright winner if there was ever a Eurovision Mong Contest.


I’m sorry that I emailed you a joke, watched your reaction, then sent you another email saying “Thanks for helping me to write Chapter 1 of ‘How to amuse monkeys’ ”


Thanks for that time when you went downstairs to pick something up for me from the store room. At the same time, you also picked something up for our manager.

Because I had annoyed you earlier, when you returned, you had quite rightly placed a “stick this up your arse” post-it note onto my delivery. I’m sorry I took it off my delivery and put it onto the managers, so that when he returned to his desk, he thought that you’d brought him something that you wanted him to stick up his arse.

He didn’t, which I am grateful for, but he was a bit p***ed off with you for a bit, which I AM sorry about.


I didn’t mean to insinuate that, just because you were going on holiday with a male friend, that you were going on a big gay holiday.

The fact that You and your friend Michael were going to land at Canada Airport, and that You Michael Canadian Airport has an acronym of Y.M.C.A., is purely a coincidence.

The fact that your travel-buddy is a policeman who wears a policemans uniform as his job, and you’re going to Canada which is full of Indians in head-dresses is again pure coincidence and not related to any gay anthem involving uniformed men.

It’s also a total coincidence that you’re NOT going to a City in Canada to mingle with the city people, but to a Village where no doubt you’ll mingle with other village people.


I’m sorry that I keep buying the same specific sweets every day, just so that I can keep doing the same joke over and over again. It is pathetic and I am beyond juvenile when I keep offering sweets out and saying “Soft mints? But enough about how he walks…”


I’m sorry that I said that your dress sense “put the ‘F’ in style”, just so you had to say “There’s no F-in style”, so I could reply “exactly”


When you were off one time, I used you PC to email…….. no, no that doesn’t matter. I’m not going to apologise for things that you’ll probably never find out about. Ignore me.


I’m sorry I call you “Monkfish” in my head. I’m not sure why I always think of the phrase “Hello Monkfish” whenever I go to chat to you but if it’s any help, this only started when the “Hello Moto” adverts came on telly about 2 years ago. It’ll pass soon.


I’m sorry I declared you the winner of the game “Secret Spaz”, the game where you have to pull spazzy faces in secret, despite you claiming you’re not playing it. You just looked like you were at the time.


I’m sorry that I called you an idiot, 15 times in 1 minute, just because you chose to have your currency exchanged at your bank and not the post office at a cost to yourself of £3.00.


I’m sorry I haven’t done any of your work while you’re off on holiday.

I’m a bit sorry that I have put all my work on your desk for when you return, so you not only have your work to catch up on, but mine too.

I’m even a bit sorry that I went through a couple of fiing cabinets today and pulled out all the filing you’d done in the 2 weeks before going away, and replaced it onto your desk so it has to be re-filed along with everything above. Sorry, yes, but also mightly amused.


Sorry I changed your password on the works PC to “ZMZMZMZMZMZMZMZMZMZMZM” just so that I can accuse you of playing Daley Thompsons Decathalon every single morning.


I’m sorry I pulled a grotesque face at you. When you asked what I was doing, I replied “You started it” which I am also sorry about.


I’m sorry I unplugged your keyboard, and plugged mine into your PC, so nothing happened when you typed, but when I typed words appeared on your screen. Initially, it was quite funny when you looked at your keyboard and started to type something normal, not realising tha the words on your screen didn’t match your typing.

The look of utter horror when you saw what was actually there, and realised that it didn’t match what you thought you’d typed, was classic. But I am sorry about it.


I’m sorry that I put that pic of you online in the Car Park Challenge section of BadlySpelled.

…but I also put it in more online places than I originally told you about. It was submitted to,, a site that had a “rate the freak” page, and some site for wommas. If it’s any consolation, your average score was 6. ……Sorry.


We’re the same height, and I know that from discussions that we’re the same waist size. Despite these facts, you’re a stone heavier than me.

TECHNICALLY, this can only be because you’re more dense than I am. So TECHNICALLY, I’m not wrong about that.

Sorry I keep adding the word “git” to the end when I describe you as “dense”.


I’m sorry I announced to the office that you had “amazing bowel control”, when in fact it was just a man playing bagpipes nearby.


Sorry I said you had a fat face.

But even you laughed when I stretched out both my arms, swung them in towards my head and said “That’s you shutting your fat face.” Sorry anyway.


Sorry I turned my phone onto camera mode, and ran at you in the street while I filmed the collision with your face.

Although I’m sorry I did it, when I watched the film back, it was good to see that someone in the background was highly amused, which more than made up for the pain you suffered.


Sorry I keep mentioning your wonky nose. Admittedly, posting a comment like this on the internet is going to attract a far wider audience, and point it out to loads more people than I was doing originally…..

Even so, I think it’s worth doing as I really do want to apologise for EVERYTHING that I have done. So the text-version of the wonky nose comment stays.


When we went to the chippy and the lady asked if we were together, I said “No, he just talks a bit camp.” I think she meant were we ordering together. So I’m sorry about that too.


A year or so ago, in the eating room at work, there was me and you on one table, and 4 good-looking females sat alone all dotted around the room at different tables. Sorry that I embarassed you when I got up to walk out and said “I’ll leave you here on your own with the fit chicks, Dave.”

You looked really self-conscious, but I’m sure that the rush of blood to your head can only have done you good. Like a brain-flush, or sumat.


One time, you had bought some soup. You commented about the salt content of it, so I asked what you meant. You told me about the fact that you could taste salt quite a lot, it was leaving a thin coat of salty taste all around the inside of your mouth, and went on about the salt ratio in the recipe.

Admittedly, shouting “Christ you’re dull” at your face may not have been the nicest thing for me to do, but it was the most factual. Soz.


That time when I looked at your forehead and started adjusting my tie, pretending that I could see my reflection was out of order too.

You’re far from balding.

(….what am I on about?!? This is a apology thing, not a lie to your face thing! Ignore that last bit. I can’t apologise for nature, Div.)


Sorry I just called you Div too.


I’m sorry that every time I email you, I include the following picture and comment…

Hello Dave!
From Your Special Friend.

It’s childish, it’s annoying, but I find it highly amusing.


Whenever we go anywhere in town at dinner time, I always get chatted up and you don’t. I’m not sure why. I’m married, and have been for 11 years. I ALWAYS have my wedding ring on, carry around photos of my kids, and even dance like an embarassing dad at weddings. Despite all these things, I get more flirts from ladies than you do.

I was wrong to imply that it’s because they think you’re a menk and that I’m your carer.

AND I was wrong to say that you dress like a “special”.

The thing that I’m REALLY sorry about is for telling all these girls around town these things in the first place.

To be honest though, I get chatted up more because I’m fitter than you. Probably.


Sorry that I only come and stand near you, not to talk, just to pump.


When you said that you watched TV last night. It was really depressing and it put you off watching it again, I’m sorry I said “No, that wasn’t the TV, that would have been the mirror.”


When I kept saying how camp, yet festive you looked, you were slightly confused. It was October. I thought you’d decided to follow the line “DON WE NOW OUR GAY APPARELL”


When I found out that you were leaving, I was really saddened. I know I didn’t show it externally, and I kept shouting “WOOOO! AAAAH-YEAH! HI 5!” which may have given you the wrong impression. So sorry about that too.


When you left, I had to take over a few of your jobs. People noticed. They started jokingly comparing me to you, and saying things like “Are you the new Dave?” and “When can we start calling you Dave?”

Then they started suggesting that I should take on a few of your characteristics too.

Sorry that when they asked me “When are you getting the limp?” I replied “just after the wonky nose, the scuffed knuckles and the hunchback.”


I invented a code, based loosly on roman numerals and numerology, that gave each letter in your name a value. The code didn’t include any letters that weren’t in your name. I called it Davology.

The way it worked is that it adds the value of each letter to the value of the letter both preceding and following it, then times it by the one at the opposite proportional end. So if your name had 11 letters, you’d take the value of letter 2, added to the value of letters 1 and 3, then times’d be the value of the letter at position 10 (2 back). Then at letter 3 you’d add letters 2 and 4, then times by the letter at position 9. You’d work forward and back at the same time through the entire name.

Make sense?

No, it didn’t to me either. Your stupid Davology code makes as much sense to me as everything else that you ever did.

Sorry that Davology is stupid too.

If you’re interested, your Davology score is 666.


I was thinking back about out happy days, before you left, and realised that it annoyed me how you have constantly shunned technology. You didn’t have a mobile phone. You didn’t own a digital watch. Or a calculator. Or a wallet. Your comb was an oyster shell. You didn’t use a pencil sharpener, but chose to whittle pencils using a shard of flint instead.

Rather than buy pre-packed food from the places around town, you chose to bring in ingredients harvested that morning from a local farm. Unrefined flour, for example, which you ground over the course of the morning using your rotating office chair.

It was like spending working-days with someone from a different century. Everything that you did was re-enacted just like it would have been in oldern times.

You were so old fashioned and technophobic, that I’m sorry that I couldn’t come up with any insults that you would understand, as I tend to use words commonly used in the 21st Century.


The “bummer-in-a-cage” joke that you told me made me laugh for hours. Absolute Quali-tie-aye.

I’m just sorry that I didn’t come up with it.

I know that’s more of a self-pity thing, but it still counts because I used the word “sorry”

Sorry Davo!

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