A good friend of mine insists that if he ever wins the lottery he will keep his job but start speaking his mind at work. He's sure that he'd be either sacked or be made head of the company by the end of the week. I haven't entered the lottery in years, but that doesn't stop me fantasising about the ultimate resignation, as even people with the best jobs must occasionally do some drab Monday mornings in February. So I hate it when people squander theirs.
All last week I was picturing the winner of the £161m Euromillions, cackling by candlelight as he drafted an eloquent "screw you" before cashing the cheque. It turns out that he was just checking his numbers. And for a fortnight I've been imagining Rebekah Brooks slowly and venomously numbering her grievances: "Wapping's a dump, Page 3 is a disgusting, sexist insult to my intelligence, and no, you have never, EVER looked good in that tracksuit..." Her real-life resignation was such a disappointment that it makes you wonder how it took her so long.
Sorry for getting so worked up about that last rant. It was my fault, I regret it and I will do what I can to make amends.
I've noticed a growing fear of apologising in recent years, which is probably caused by a litigious culture that goes as far as telling drivers that in the case of an accident they must never say sorry. These days, it's assumed that the best form of defence is attack, and people in the wrong tend to lash out instead of 'fessing up.
It's a shame, because a quick apology reminds the apologee that we're all just human and make mistakes, and it's by far the best way for everyone to move on. Just one thing, though: apologies should be genuine, meaningful and, most important of all, quick. And apologies if Rupert Murdoch feels that this was a personal attack. That was my fault, too, and I really am sorry for it.