Today at the Office....

And so as one section of our lives ends, another must begin, and the beginning is thus where I will start.

Deep into the sultry night of 23rd June, 2000, I was awoken from the doze (more like a coma, actually) that I had fallen into amidst the precariously heaped piles of newspaper that sprung, unhindered from my desk at home to the distant sound of a phone ringing from the other side of the room. Dismissing this slumber-infused abatement to my sleep as a dream at first, I rolled my head in a copy of the Times Sport and fell about the task of going back to sleep. When, however, five minutes later I heard the phone ring again, I stirred myself sprightly and peeled my head, saliva-pasted to the newspaper, up from the desk, picking off bits as I reached the proximity of the phone, and stuck my hands randomly into a few piles of paper, pulling out, amongst other things, a small herring (evidently thrown in a fit of excitement at some point or another) and a three-month old cheese and pickle sandwich, nestled neatly inside which was the phone. I picked up the phone and fumbled a moment with the many assorted buttons (I can never seem to work a phone when I need to in a hurry) and by some fluke pressed the talk button, hearing at once the croaked voice of the Webmaster on the other end.
"Huhrumphington..huh, umm hello?" I proffered, like a man stirred from a 30-year hibernation period.
"Hello, yes, it’s the Webmaster here."
"Chris," I said, fully awake now and ready to throttle him for awakening me, "Numero Uno, you don’t need to use that stupid ‘Webmaster’ alias on the phone to me, and, um, second, it’s.......say, just what time is it?"
"Half five," said the Webmaster in exasperated tones "and I’d.....!"
"Wait, I haven’t finished ranting yet: it is half-five in the morning and you are ringing me. So don’t do it again. Now, what did you want?"
"It’s actually half-five in the evening, Alex."
"Oh. What did you want?" I said, scratching my head in a puzzled manner.
"Well, I just want to say that I’d like to see you in my office tomorrow morning, 11 o’clock sharp. Bye."
"But Chris," I sighed, "You don’t have an office."
"Don’t I? Oh. Meet me....in my house, then. Bye." He rang off, leaving me nursing a paper cut from The Times on my chin, and wondering why I agreed to any of this in the first place.

The next morning was a crisp and clear one, and I arrived, typically late, on the Webmaster’s wide and imposing front doorstep, half expecting a hunch-backed butler to open the door and say "the master will see you now". Chris instead opened it and complained at once about my arrival time, before leading me into a sitting room, offering me a chair, which I declined on the grounds that I had eaten before I left my house, and sat down.
"Alex," he began.
"..you have a large paper cut on you’re chin."
"Yeah, I know." I proffered, rather rudely.
"..Now, Alex, the last four articles that you have written for me have been....how shall I say this," he drummed his fingers on a coffee table that seemed to have magically appeared in front of him. "....bad."
"Oh that? Yeah, I’m a bit off form, that’s all." I beamed, albeit a tad shaken from Chris’s unusual frankness, given that he could usually string out what would normally be a five minute monologue into a three hour, widescreen movie of Titanic proportions.
"Well, I was actually wondering if you would maybe start a new series for me." He continued.
"Err...like what?"
"Call it ‘Today at the office’ if you like." He said. This was a hint, I believe.
"Oh." I stuttered, offended that someone who failed GCSE English first time was actually telling me to buck up my ideas.
"Now go away and don’t come back. I want the first one in an hour’s time on my desk. Goddit?" He continued, rather tersely, as if he had suddenly remembered that he had half MENSA coming for morning tea in a few minutes.
"Ye.."
"Good. Bye."

And thus here it is: the very first installment of "Today at the office". Enjoy.