My job is the centre of my existence. That’s what my boss thinks. I will, as stated in the interview, work nights and weekends. Overtime? No problem. Run the place while the manager’s away for no extra money? Love to.

This dedication lasts a couple of months. Then reality sets in: the job sucks, the money is low and I’m tired. A weekend away involving beach, beer and the love interest is needed, but I’m rostered on every Saturday night at Molly’s Mullet Hut and will be slopping out the foul fish all weekend. The time is ripe for a professional sickie.

Pulling a sickie is the only acting I do. I can De Niro a cough, Depp a mysterious gastro and Paltrow the flu past bosses and even doctors if a certificate is needed, and have learnt some handy tips.

Be vague about your illness; you just feel bad. Specifics can get you sacked. If you must give details only describe the velocity and locations that food is leaving your body. The conversation will be short.

Remember that relatives can only die once and your dog cannot get run over every week. Neither can you, for that matter.

The more outrageous the excuse the better chance you have of getting away with it. My roof/car/girlfriend caught fire. I drove into a cow. Someone spiked my drink and now I can’t work my legs. I won a mystery flight and have to take it today.

You have to use what you’ve got. I used to drive a Combi and when, for the second day in a row, I woke up five hours late for a breakfast shift I knew I had to go all out.

Boss: ‘Where are you?’
Me: ‘The police stopped me and searched my car for five hours. They think I’m a drug dealer because I drive a Combi. I really wanted to come to work but I’m too shaken up.’
Boss:’How awful…’

Worked a treat.

Big excuses, like big hair, are good distractions. Get it right, though, because some bosses aren’t as stupid as they look and you’ll have more time off than you wanted.