This is insanity.

Eclair Man says he's made progress in exposing the cake thief. This morning he sat on the corner of my desk and attempted to engage me in his plans. Despite obvious signs of disinterest like using the phone or walking away he failed to take the hint. In the end I was blunt and told him to fuck off, as a result I'm again on the the list of suspects.

On getting drunk at tea time...

After the 'eclair incident' I was driving home when overcome with the urge to drink wine. Red wine, a glass of glugging ruby nectar. A mouth watering worry for I'm incapable of drinking a solitary glass. Call me weak, call me shallow, it is impossible. So, I'm driving and thinking. Then hey presto it's the supermarket car park and a done deal, it would be churlish not to go in. The first aisle is cleaning materials, dusters, bin bags, fabric conditioner, furniture polish, all the stuff I've needed for sometime but managed to ignore. In my basket at the checkout amongst household items a single bottle of wine nestles like a baby.

Once back home I don't need alcohol because I am strong, then hey presto the bottle is open and it would be churlish not to drink it. A glass helps me put away the furniture polish, fabric conditioner etc. But only one glass mind.

All plans are now changing because BOLLOCKS, if a person can't have a fucking glass of wine when a person gets home from work then what is the point of living!?

I cook some tea and I'm feeling pretty fucking good and the wine is tasting pretty fucking good, and the world is looking pretty fucking good. So, its another glass then.

By 8pm the bottle is finished and a mate rings. Let's go for a pint, drink some beer. Fucking top idea. Come 11pm a glass of Jamesons to help wash down the beer seems de rigueur, and why the fuck not? What is the fucking point of living otherwise?

This morning at work I opened the fridge door and eclair man climbed out. I think he takes comfort from the darkness and the cold.

The fridge and getting drunk at tea time.

The fridge at work has become a problem. Jesus, if it isn't the fucking tidy desks it's something else. The day before yesterday I heard shouting from the work's kitchen, naturally enough I join the crowd to see what's going on. Our education worker is bent double (legs upright, back at obtuse angle) brain clearly cooling given the length of time spent encased in deep white plastic box. To cut a long story short he was upset that someone had eaten the eclair he'd bought for his colleague. Now, ignoring the pregnant issue of buying cakes for a colleague his anger was out of proportion to the scale of the theft. The cake thief you see had neatly stolen most of the eclair except an inch at the end and in the fridge cupped within a fine sheath of grease proof paper lay mockingly the remaining 1 inch. Of course all hell broke loose, accusations were made tears were shed relationships were ended. For my part laughing at the absurdity was clearly a mistake because an echoing cry (from head still in fridge) of J'accuse rattled everyone's ears. Then to cap it all the little light went out and to be honest the consequent darkness wasn't confined to the fridge.

Hmm, first blog ever.

At work the six monthly 'clean desks' memo appeared this morning. Not sure why they keep pressing this on us, especially as it makes not one jot of difference to how people keep their desks. The anal types have work surfaces as prim as their opinions. Sort of NEAT! and boxed. In Ishiguro's novel 'The Remains of the Day' the butler laying out the table measures a correct distance between forks, knives, glasses, plates etc. Everything in its place, down to the last milimetre, unchanging and unchanged. The social order laid out in rigid patterns across an aristocrat's dining table. But the same thing on a bloody desk at work! Now I'm not arguing here that the anal's are like the aristocracy, I think different things are going on. For instance the aristocracy are, or were, extremely powerful whereas the anal's, (at least in my office) are extremely... well, anal. No power, no influence, no imagination, no...sense.

I think these people see the world as patterns, maybe in an aspergic sort of way, for instance should a passing colleague (say me) brush against their desk and move an item previously squared off, be it only a nanometre or even a quantam level distance they will know and spend some time lining everything back up. Now is that sad, or what?