How Roger Came to Spend Lockdown on the Sofa in His Underpants
The Mission Control team inside Roger’s head was worried. Roger, fifty three years old, twice divorced, recently furloghed, needed exercise to keep in shape. After all, who knew how long the pandemic was going to last ?
The Finance Department, situated at the rear of Roger’s cranium, confirmed that money was available for running apparel. So, a message was relayed to Roger’s fingers, authorising them to make an online order. Another message was sent to the Memory crew: Roger would go running each morning at 9 am.
The plan started well. Mission Control monitored his breathing and sweat glands as he huffed and puffed along dirt tracks and roads. But, on the fifth day, a malfunction occurred. His calf muscle tightened and he pulled up in pain. Only the Memory crew came out of the episode with any credit, having made sure he took his phone and a crisp ten pound note just in case he needed a taxi home.
‘We need to think outside the box’ said Creativity.
‘What about press-ups ?’ said HR, well known for their masochistic tendencies. ‘Fifty a day – every day.’
But a lower back muscle popped, sending Roger onto the floor in agony. Martha, the care home assistant who lived next door, saved him. She heard his cries for help, rolled him over and began to massage his spine. As she did so Mission Control tried desperately to restrict a sudden surge in blood flow that adversely stimulated the Crown Jewels, a desolate area of Roger’s body that had remained lifeless for a number of years.
That night, after a long discussion with the Happiness Department, Mission Control threw in the towel: ‘That’s it! We give up! Let him do whatever he wants.’
And that was how Roger came to spend Lockdown on the sofa in his underpants, eating snacks, and watching box sets of Bonanza.