Welcome back Kotter.

It was the new year, 1993 was over and things had moved along at the landing gear emporium.

Jim Collins was back, but not in his previous role as manager, Jim had returned as a contractor and was sat back at his old desk, earning more, paying less tax, and was enjoying his days. The desk in front of him was now inhabited by Ken Marlton, who in a strange twist of fate had been sweet talked into giving up his contracting position to have the grand title of Stress Office manager.

It had only been a few months, and Ken was not at all happy with this.

I always made a point of finding my way around to Ken's desk each payday, and as he opened his envelope I would sing "I know all there is to know about the crying game" as he shook his head. It seemed a constant shock to him, the amount of money that was subtracted for the various taxes and fees that permanent members of staff enjoyed.

I told him he was lucky, that the chore of keeping receipts and employing an accountant had been lifted from his shoulders. I would add as an afterthought that I felt that Jim Collins had pulled off a master stroke and I would ask Ken one thing before I wandered off back to my desk.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Jim would chortle.