So I’m back at work.
I’m back up to my neck in petty bureaucracy, ropey plumbing and orang-utan arsed contractors.
The familiar smell of my workstation – Tipp-ex, chocolate, wood polish and cyanide (I will find a use for those capsules one day, I promise you) is not acting as a balm. One expects a little residual sourness when one returns to work after a holiday but the rising torrent of acid that is currently bubbling away in my gorge (oo-er) is alarming to say the least.
How am I keeping myself sane? You may very well ask.
Current favourite coping strategy is to indulge in a spot of dark fantasizing.
No. Not of that sort, you mucky minded lot...
I am not really a building supervisor for a local government authority.
I am a sleeper agent.
I am here to dismantle the system, the authoritarian regime that maintains law & order and regulates the price of DVDs in this capitalist nanny state. You see me sitting here, searching Google Maps for the nearest Jewson’s outlet, never realising that I am in fact subtlely interrogating Google Earth for the wherewithal to gain access to this country’s great edifices of power.
But I am not sure, at this point in time, what exactly those edifices are.
I thought it might be 10 Downing Street but mentally I have this confused with Billy Smart’s circus. My ‘controller’ is pushing me to apprehend the nerds that run Twitter but I suspect they might be a little out of my jurisdiction. Besides which, I use Twitter to further my own socialist manifesto so suspect my ‘controller’ might be a double agent. Or at the very least Ryan Giggs. Either way, not to be trusted.
However, the perks are pretty good. I have excellent ball control.
I am of course building a dirty bomb beneath my desk. My work colleagues no doubt think I am up to something seedy and unpalatable with a sheet of bubble wrap and an old copy of Hello magazine but really I am constructing a weapon of such awesome destructive power that Harold Camping has snapped his Casio pocket calculator clean in half and is currently sobbing into his Gideon’s Bible. Once I’ve inserted the last paperclip you’re all for it.
I am looking around the office. Taking careful note of the photocopier, the stationery cupboard, the water cooler. Noting their location.
‘Cos tomorrow they won’t be here. Instead their atomized remains will be spread across a 10 mile wide crater, at the centre of which will be the smoking remains of my desk and my sock suspenders.
I may bequeath my hole-punch to someone before it is too late.
Oh what the hell. It’s too good for any of them anyway.
Now, where was I?
There’s dog poo outside the building.
By ‘eck, I needs must get me shovel.
It’s so nice to be back at work.