This Week In The Office XXVII

Act 1: INTRO-STYLEE BIT

Hello.

Well, don’t just stand there like Fat Bat thinking, come in, come in.

Act 2: FOCUS ON…ARMAGEDDON: THE END OF AN ERA

Ah, memories.

Dear friends, I have a traumatic announcement to make. You may have heard (or read) rumours in the last week or so in the tabloid press about the ongoing status of this series. I feel thus that it is my duty not only to give The Webmaster a severe buttock kicking for divulging sacred information without my permission, but also to explain, to you, my loyal companions, what the reality behind the rumour is.

Somewhere in the region of 25 weeks ago (give or take a few “lost weeks” last summer), I was called into conference with The Webmaster. This incredibly successful series of articles is the outcome of that clash or superior brains. As you are no doubt aware, a full account of that conference is available for your viewing pleasure in the form of the infamous This Week In The Office Introduction.

For the next 25 weeks or so, everything took off and ran shockingly smoothly….until…

…last Sunday. I received a summons to the Court Of Internal W.E.B.P.A.P.E.R Affairs And Correspondance, urging me with the air of an overprotective mother to attend An Audience With The Webmaster. “Oh dear (or a word to that effect)” I thought, “ITV have got their hands on The Webmaster to boost their waning Saturday night ratings.” However, when I dwelt on the matter (this is not something that I think I should do - it involves using the brain, and that, in my experience, can be painful), I realised with a shock that The Webmaster’s poor deluded soul had once again been overworked (this is what the Big Lang house does to you), and that despite the awkwardly misleading wording, he actually meant simply that I should see him ASAP.

The Jaguar limo arrived early the next morning. It was a stretch one. Like Le Doosh is a stretch human. With unrequired spending such as this, can The Webmaster really be suprised when we have not a bean of profit at the end of each month? Anyway, the journey was quiet and non-eventful, bar of course the usual mobbing by my personal cult (the Al cult - I feel quite privileged) while I traversed the four feet required between my front door and the limo, and a quite harmless life threatening attack from the Fat And Tormented Big Assed Simpleton Tribe Acquiring Rigorous Dynamic Success At Sport And Politics group at a T-junction. Shortly after the attack by the tribe, we drew up at the gothic looking building known as The Court Of Internal W.E.B.P.A.P.E.R Affairs And Correspondence.

Again, this is a waste of funds: the building has almost 450 different rooms, on 20 levels, (excluding the private underground complex, which is run by an elite team of 300 staff and features a full replica of the entire building, but 5 miles below ground - Chris claims that this is nessecary in case a sudden nuclear holocaust takes place or there is a large natural disaster that even a hollywood tough guy and assorted space trips, missiles and guns couldn’t remedy), a private airport, direct connections to the major rail networks, and a very large rear complex (200,000,000 sqft), in which thousands of human guinea pigs (now they, friends, are truly a sight to behold) sit at various computer screens and test the website 24/7. It is a waste of money because The Webmaster insists that we only use main conference hall (a large hall with an even larger table - so big that you have to use a telephone connection to speak to people at the other end: it seats 350, yet there have only ever been 5 people in the room at the same time) and 4 other rooms (an office for each of the contributors bar Doosh: he’s under the impression that he has an office but in reality we host the live chat links to him in a small broom cupboard under the main staircase) because of, and I quote:
“The dust! The dust will get everywhere!!! Gnnaghh!!”

So, as I was saying before the attack of the Tangent from hell, I arrived and was shown by the security staff (50 of them) to The Webmaster’s grand office, on the 5th floor, with a nice view over the private lake, tennis court, Ice rink (The Webmaster even purchased the Dallas Stars for his own amusement, though they only ever get to play against a motley team made up of groundskeepers and various security staff, so I think he’s got a bum deal there), race track and golf course out back. The “Audience” began in much the way our meetings all do - that is to say in a bizarre manner. I took a seat on the plush leather recliner (“No sofas….that’s so informal and common”) that I had been guided to by The Webmaster’s rather attractive young “Personal Assistant”. She left the room, and The Webmaster, seated in a huge chair by the huge window, swivelled serenely around to face me and said “Ahh, Mr Law, I’ve been expecting you” whilst drumming his fingers on the chunky arms of the throne I saw before me.
“Ok. This has gone far enough.” I said. I was annoyed now, and wanted to get on with it. “Of course you were expecting me, it was you who summoned me here in the first place.”
“Have a coffee.” He said, gesticulating wildly in the direction of a quite immense coffee machine on the far wall. “I can’t stand the stuff, but seeing as you were coming I thought I’d have that thing installed.” I went over and pressed random buttons until the machine spewed forth a frothy steaming mass of perfect cappuccino into a clearly inadequate paper cup. “It’s meant for use with nicer cups than them, but I couldn’t be bothered. You’ll have to drink up, I have The Lang coming down to discuss a new wage deal in accordance to the mass of hits Big Lang is pulling in. Oh, and drink it outside in the hall, I don’t want coffee on my furniture.”
I drank my coffee outside, had a pleasant conversation with a rubber plant named Bob outside the door about the London transport system, and went back inside and sat down.
“Now,” said The Webmaster, “Now look here, you’ve taken so long that I have 30 seconds in which to say this before Lang arrives: you’ll have to end TWITO at episode 30. The Lang is planning a sequel to Big Lang, entitled Big Lang In Space, which is basically the same thing as Big Lang, except for the fact that we’ll all be on a space station orbiting the Earth instead of in a house. We’ll need all the space TWITO is taking up on the site for the 24hr a day, non-censored life broadcasts of life on board.”
“Bu..!” I stammered.
“Ah! No arguments, I’m having the space station built already.” He pointed out of the window, where I could see a space complex had been built, complete with launch pad. I was in shock
“I won’t do it. It’s a big mistake. Ending TWITO could cause the highest rate of suicide in the world amongst the female population since Take That split up. It would be unfair. I would be under siege. I might get killed!” I said, in a gradually rising pitch.
“Nonsense, nonsense,” He said “Only maimed, at the very most you’d lose a limb. And besides, you wouldn’t be here long enough for the peasants to revolt anyway.”
“Err..why?”
“Oh? Did I not tell you that immediately after Big Lang In Space finishes we will regroup and journey to Mars as a team to become the first humans to set foot on the Red planet?”
“No…”
“Well, that’s what’s happening. So, you’ll end TWITO at 30?”
“Well…”
“Well what?”
“Can I have exclusive rights to cover the journey to Mars?”
“Possibly…”
“It’s that or nothing boss, my final offer.” I had him (metaphorically) by the small and curlies now.
“Ok. But no more jokes about the beard, ok? I hear shaving is hard work in space.”
“Agreed.” I said, then added, under my breath. “Not.” [I heard that! - Ed]
I got up, and left the room, catching an eavesdropping Lang as I opened the door, and stepped out into the hall, saying goodbye to Bob the rubber plant on the way.

So, there you have it. As you can see, I had no choice. TWITO will henceforth end at episode 30. Hey, don’t kill me, take it out on The Lang or The Webmaster instead.

Oh, and please don’t sue me if none of the above future plans actually take place.

Act 3(a): Elsewhere in the Office this week…

Note: There has actually been only one news item that has popped up this week, though in addition I do have two left over from last week that I lost in my jacket pocket. So here you go.

Note 2: Due to email connection faults, this article has actually become the article for 21/4/01. See, you didn’t even notice that I had gone, did you?

Act 4: THE END

From the official TWITO mourning control center,

Thankyou and goodnight!

BIGal

Act 4 Part B Subheading D Section 4(a) Paragraph(s) 1-110 (inclusive): IN THE CD CASE OF BIGAL

Well, I haven’t had time to plan and construct this section fully this week - again - so for now, and possibly the remaining weeks in the life of TWITO, I’ll just continue by giving you a list of the top CD’s from my 12 CD case this week (I carry it around with me in case Fat Bat starts talking at me). Eventually this will be embellished by full reviews, pictures and the like, but you’ll have to wait till TWITO finishes for that.

Case 1: (If you missed this last week, it works like a kind of countdown thing, with 6 CD’s in each case and one in my actual Discman, the one from the Discman being the week’s Number 1)

Case 2:

Discman Disk of The Week:

Chart Round up: Where did they all go, you’ll be thinking. Well, last week’s top 3 all got lent out to various people, so they couldn’t be included, although if I had a choice, I would have been listening to that astounding Tourniquet album on more than one occasion, simply because of Ted Kirkpatrick’s drumming genius. See you all next week.

BIGal


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