It's not every day that someone starts to tell you about how they once took a dump, in the haggis vault, of an old house that once belonged to Aleister Crowley and Jimmy Page. Then you find out they were on the sex offenders register for being, mistakenly, branded as a sadomasochist business analyst. When someone starts to tell you those kinds of tales, while serving out the morning gruel, you tend to listen. It turned out that Harry Lashing had quite a few stories to tell. I used to really enjoy it when he was on the duty rota at Blessings care home. Poor old Harry, a man that had been used, and abused, by the corporate world and then thrown onto the scrapheap for just trying to survive. It almost seemed as though fate had taken his name and decided to put him through an absurd set of adventures just for our entertainment. One day, after being told a particularly long story, about how a couple of ice cream salesmen and his devil worshipping boss had convinced him that he could read minds, I realised this story was one that had to be told. Harry was more than willing. Night after night he would come to visit me in my grim little room at the Blessings Care home. Here I wrote all of his adventures into a little book. We had a good discussion about what to call the end result. Eventually we came up with, 'The Strange Misfortune Of Harry Lashing.' I really hope that you enjoy reading this book. Some of the names have been changed but, I have to assure you, this tale is a true one. If you don't believe me search for Harry Lashing on the 'Stichedup' job site. After all the internet is the only place for truth these days isn't it.