Oestrogen Overload

This is the tale of a man working in a predominately female office
environment.

That man is I.

For the purposes of this tale, I will be referred to as Tony.

All names in this story are fictitious, to protect the identity of all
concerned.
My identity must remain a secret at all times. I mean, look what
happened to Salman Rushdie.
Don't want no 'fatwa' on my head.

Characters are and shall be exclusively referred to as:

Charlotte "Oh God, we've no laptops" Bowditch,
Rachel "Jo...anne" Mann.............hey! That rhymes.
Elaine "Maximiser" Hamilton ,
Joanne "Stinky Egg" Millington ,
Eve "I used to be a school teacher" Corrall ,
Christine "I've been here 20 years ya know" Andrews ,
Tim "The meeting guru" Galley .

I'm alone. All alone. That's because its only 8AM you dork. Nobody else
starts until 9.

Well, not strictly true. Christine is normally in, but on the
phone!

As for me, well my daily ritual begins with the not too surprising tape
change, task server restart and
2 cups of spectacular vending machine milk, and a couple of fags.

Yup, that's right. I said milk. There's never any coffee left in the
morning,
cos 'Jo I'm off coffee today' has normally had it all the day
before.
Also I said I have a couple of fags. Get your mind out of the gutter! I
meant having two cigarettes,
not 'having two fags!'

Tick tock, tick tock its 9 o'clock.

The normal enthused looking faces appear through the doors.

First Tim, then Charlotte. Sometimes its Charlotte then Tim. It just
depends on what
dental disasters Charlotte has had at home as to what time she comes
in.

Hot on their heals is Eve, then Rachel and Elaine, with Jo bringing up
the rear.

I sit, wondering, pondering. Is it going to be a day of glum or
glee?

Work starts in earnest. Can't help but notice Jo has attended work in
her normal attire.

A gorgeous bright orange cycling shirt, track suit bottoms and
runners,
complemented by an oversized handbag that resembles a knackered
rucksack.

All in all, a natty little number.

Her hair is windswept. Hardly the 'in fashion' style, but that's what
you get when
a colleague has dismantled the brakes on ya bike.

"Morning Jo. Whats in the rucksack?" I ask. "Need you bother..burp.
Oops..sorry"

How attractive.

Eve champions the first round of drinks from the vending machine.

"Charlotte? Normal or alternative if the 60's don't work?"
"Rachel? Normal or alternative if the 60's don't work?"
"Elaine? Normal?"
"Tony? Normal or alternative if the 60's don't work?"
"Jo? 13?" enquires Eve.

We all make our natural responses. Eve sidles out through the doors
heading for
the canteen, not to be seen for another 30 minutes.
That's what it feels like anyway. It takes so long to pour those bloody
drinks.

"Rachel? Got any deodorant"?"asks Jo .
Rachel promptly lobs her can of 'pot pourri' over the partition. Well,
that's what it smells like anyway.
Personally I prefer 'eau de toilette' bog cleaner, lemon scent.
Better than a girlfriend who smells like a manky sideboard.

Jo suspiciously starts to remove items of clothing. My mind goes into a
total
panic, but I soon calm down when I realise it just her runners and
socks! Eeewww!!!

Believe me, I just can't understand that whole Fergie 'toe'
experience.

Off she goes to the ladies. Whether she's getting changed or laying
booby traps to
catch sausage 'anorexic' girl out, I don't know.
Eventually she returns, looking..well rather professional. Or as
professional as a DBA can.

All the while, numerous phone calls have come in. Maximiser, Business
First,
Charlotte occasionally popping her head up yelling or rather singing
"Oh god. We've got no laptops"

OK, OK. So what's the topic today then. I know. Let's revisit the
subject of
Bob the Knob and friendsreunited.co.uk

"I need a coffee. Who's turn is it? Rachel? Tony?. I reckon its
Rachel's turn. She hasn't got one for 3 years" claims Jo.

"Actually Jo.......anne, I got one earlier" retorts Rachel.
"Heard anything about Mike yet?" she enquires.

"You ask me that every morning Rachel. God. I mean if I had anything
to
tell you, blah blah blah. I'll tell you what. When I know something, I
shall just say, OK?,
that way you don't have to keep asking. Got any handcream?"

Rachel lobs the handcream over the partition. Jo lobs back the
deodorant, closely followed
by the handcream.

Hold on to your hats folks. Makeup fight, south by southwest.

I duck, not for any particular reason. It's just that my nerves are
shot. Actually.
I sussed out the reason. Jo nicked my bloody chair on Monday night. I
mean of all the low down dirty.......tricks.

Hmm. Kinda reminds me how distraught I was when she smashed my
conker.

See, a bloke has a wallet in his back pocket. It has been medically
proven that if your wallet has too
much stuff in..you know, like a woman's handbag, then it can pinch the
nerve in your butt cheek
and make you limbs fly around like a demented person waving down a
bus.

So, the moral of this story, is leave my butt shaped chair alone. I
mean first the conker,
then the chair. Hell. Whats next. How about my car or bank
account?.

Charlotte pops her head up at this point. Yes, she goddam
singing.

The song goes:
"Hey Baby,
"I wanna know oh oh oh"
"If we've got any laptops"

Charlotte's phone rings. The entire department mops their brow. A brief
respite from her vocal overtures.

"Hi love. Yeah..Yeah..Yeah..What? NO! What! NO! Cameron cricket?! What?
No" OK see you later.

Well am I missing something here? How the hell can you have a
conversation based on What and No?

It's 10:30. Jo is on the hunt for chippys. No, not chips but crisps.
See that's what they call them in Kiwi speak.

Apparently they're good for you. The fact that they are loaded with
Fatty acids,
saturated fats etc, they are good. Ummmm, lovely. Clog those arteries
girls.

How long before waist sizes come into the conversation I wonder?

Uh Oh. Here it comes. "Yeah. I've got a wardrobe full of clothes that I
didn't want to throw out.
I WILL get into them again" claims Elaine, Rachel, Jo, Charlotte and
me.

Me? No, just a slip of my typing fingers.

Ladies, LADIES: Here's a tip. Get your old fella to give you oodles of
cash and buy a new wardrobe.
Come on. Let's be honest. Those clothes that you used to wear in
primary school will never, ever fit you again.

Eve has returned with the drinks. Whoo hoo. The machine has dished out
exactly what we wanted.
Unbelievable I know, but it has.

This moment I will treasure. A 63 strong. Ah, lovely.

"Hi Dan" says Elaine excitedly. "W2KO1SQL_NTLP_INTRANET_MAXIMISER_2000
is dead. I just give up." She cries.

"Ah, that's because the full path for the crossmounted thingy that goes
with the upside down thingumybob,
that connects to the whatsit with the doo da on top is knacked."
Replies Dan.

"Can you fix it Dan. Come on whadda ya think?"
"I'll get Mike Everard to have a look"

"Well that's that then" Elaine explains to Rachel.

Still no sign of Tim, but that's not unusual.

All together now: (in a Tom Jones voice)
It's not unusual for Tim to be away
He's probably in some meetings all day ay ay ay ay!

You can make up the rest yourself, I'm not Andrew Lloyd Webber you
know.

Nearly lunchtime and I've done precisely diddly squat. Nothing new
there then. Me, I'm out for an easy life.
I mean look what working hard has done for me. Fat gut, going grey,
balding.
Give it another week and I'll probably look like a horses arse with a
side parting!.

What the hell is that smell. Eggs. Its bloody eggs.

"Jo?" I ask
"Yeah..burp, parp. Oops sorry"
"Man. Those eggs stink"
"Yeah, but they're good for you. Do you know where there are any good
bike ride places round here?" she enquires.
"Nah, not really" I explain.

Elaine then tells Jo of an ideal little place just past Nokia.
Naturally, Jo phones us during her lunch hour
whilst out on her bike, for directions.

Directions!! It's only a few hundred yards away, and she needs an
A-Z.

Rachael meanwhile, is psyching herself up. She's got a meeting with
Walters Prick. Sorry, I mean Walter Zwick.

You know him. That large fella with the car that only goes round left
hand bends.

I'm not one to cast aspertions, but..well he is a big lad. I had a
meeting with him the other day.
Just me and him in the room. Didn't matter where I sat, cos I was still
sitting next to him.

Tim appears from his meeting agenda. Hooray we all cry.

No good. He's just going for his lunch in the canteen. Have you ever
seen someone eat that much! The mind boggles.

Christine is gaily punching out the letters and numbers on her
keyboard. Tap Tap Tap.

Sound like bloody morse code to me. Hello!! Hello!! Any terrorists
here?

At this juncture, I thought we could introduce some other members of
the establishment.
I just know that they would hate to be missed out.

The 'Sites Department'...
Jeff 'hairline receding faster than the Taliban Frontline' Pyatt,
Diane 'I'm going to hit him in a minute' Hardey and
Dean 'if its got a pulse, then count me in' Martin.

Apparently Deano like legs and blond hair. Well, that explains the
picture of a golden retriever in his wallet..WOOF!

Rachel's tired. Oh Christ, that means Jo....anne's gonna hit the
drugs.

"Tired Rachel?" Jo asks.
"NO!"

Jo, whips open her draws. Hey! Careful with your imagination.

"Yes you are. Look, this is what you need. A small pick me up. I've got
Vitamin A, B, C, D, E, Zinc,
Monosodium glutomate or coke. Take your pick?" she says
forcefully.

"Nah, I'll stick to the peppermint tea, but thanks" replies
Rachel.

Yesterday, I overhead an interesting conversation. "Can I just show you
this Christine?
Angela gave it to me. It's a list of all the bods that were Superdrug
trained!" said Eve.

Hold on a minute. So..Jo, Angela, Eve and Christine..Oh my god, we're
running a drugs cartel.

Of course, Jo reckons she's still on a diet. Rachel reckons she's on a
diet.
Elaine reckons she's on a diet. Charlotte's on a diet. Tim's definitely
not on a diet,
although he often claims to be!

Me? Yeah, just the usual fat diet.

Jo hits the desk after returning from the canteen..That's because I
moved her chair. Hah!

She's got more chippy's. Remember those? They're those things that are
cooked with the entire lard
mountain of Eastern Europe. But Hey!! They're good for you.

Rachel returns from the canteen with what I can only describe as
potatoes, smothered in green radioactive botulism.

Bloody stinks too.

Someone made some flippant comment earlier about Simon the head chef's
balls.

Hmm. Maybe they weren't potatoes then?

I glance over to my left. I can hear Jo, but can't see her. God, have
you seen the state of her desk!.
OK lads, cover me..I'm going in!

The phone rings. "Hi, it's me" exclaims Charlotte. "Oh god.
Noooooo"

Panic stricken at the tone of her voice, we all glance round.

"What......you mean........., we've got ONE laptop".

Phew, for a minute there, I thought that was either the dentist, or god
forbid, 2 laptops.

Nah, only joking. Actually, she had a lucid, well thought out
structural conversation.

Good god. Some one call for a white coat!

"Who's turn is it for the coffee's. I know it's Eve's" explains
Jo

"She's not here. She's on one of her lacy weekends in Norfolk" informs
Christine.

"Oh. Rachel?..Elaine?..Tony?..Charlotte?...anybody?. Great, tell you
what, I'll get them" Jo responds.

"Thought you were off the coffee Jo?" I ask.
"I am" she replies.

Hang on a minute. I must be missing something here. If you are off the
coffee, does that not
mean that you are off the coffee.
Well yeah, but we ARE talking about women here.

See, guys say what they mean. Women say what they want you to accept as
the truth. They can be on diets,
but still eat for king and country.

I mean, they say they are going swimming or to the gym..but do they?
Usually not,
but as far as the man is concerned, he has to believe that they went,
they saw,
they conquered and lost 900lbs too boot!

Jo gets up to go and get the drinks, only followed by the normal
trumpeting sounds that are not
really too becoming for a girl.

OK. Poor Jo, Let's stop ragging on her......Well maybe NOT!

Five Minutes she had been with the company and we had to go over to 21.
You know the place.
That's where the company send you when you're on the way out.

Well, over we go then. We get as far as the car-park at the back of
Cygnus, and then comes the
words that every man dreads.

"I'll drive" she said.
As Victor Meldrew says, "I don't bloody believe it!"

Now, I'm the type of person to give everyone a fair go, but on this
occasion, all I could think was god help me.

We arrive at 21, that superb structure of a building, recently
renovated by the 'Sites Department'.
You must know them. They're the ones who spend half their lives moving
desks from A to B and back again.

No..to be fair, they renovated the site.

The demolition company however, are due in next week!

Before we go in, I thought I had better prep Jo, as to what to
expect.

"I call this the wet fish department Jo"
"Wet fish..what's that an English term?"
"No, what I mean is that they all look like they've been slapped by
one!."
We mince in, and out again. By this time I can't believe my luck. Looks
like I'm going to make it back again
in one piece. Didn't I speak too soon.

We go haring off down Invincible Road. Her mobile rings. Of course,
most people would leave it,
but no..not Jo. She attempts to pick up her phone, which is lodged in
the centre console near the gear stick.

She can't free it. Her door tag is all wrapped around the phone and
gear stick. As she frantically
tries to rip the phone out from its entangled web, she decides to take
a casual glance out of the windscreen.
A lorry. Not just any lorry. This thing's built like brick sh*thouse,
and its heading straight for us.

Never mind me, I'm already writing my will at this point. Then in one
amazing Michael Schumacher move,
she has one handedley answered the phone, taken the call, corrected the
car's position and got her door
tag back round her neck.

"What the hell's that bloody smell?" she screams
Ooops I think to myself, or to be more accurate......Poops!

Believe me. Loaded underwear is an over-rated experience, just like
tying your own shoelaces.

Charlotte jumps up from her chair and walks off. Well in her version
she walks off.
In reality she travels in excess of 100 miles an hour.

Have you ever noticed that? She really does go ten to the dozen.

There's a lady upstairs called Carol. Poor thing. You have to feel for
her. She made a cardinal error.
Charlotte and Carol went down town together at lunchtime. Oh lordy
lord.

Check out the latest weather report.

Michael Fish had this to say in the latest bulletin.

"A freak tornado struck downtown in Farnborough, Hampshire a few hours
ago.
All the local shops have suffered irreparable damage. Medical teams are
on standby and the
North Hampshire fire brigade are on the scene.
All roads into and out of the area have been closed in case of a repeat
performance."
"The bizarrest of claims though from people close to but not affected
by the devastation."
"What appeared to be the eye of the storm was not it's natural
colour.
There were definite steaks of blonde and grey hair in there"

Of course, there was no tornado. Just Charlotte blowing through.

74 shops visited in a whirlwind 45 minutes. What makes me laugh, is she
ended up back at the first shop,
and still came back to work empty handed.

As for Carol, well the last I heard, she was in an oxygen tent.

And so we begin...

Many people have expressed a wish to be a part of this epic saga that
is unfolding before your very eyes.

To those of you that have been quiet, a word of warning.

Be afraid, be very afraid.

As we sit here, waiting for something stimulating to happen, I hear it.
That booming voice. That unmistakeable sound.

Stephan 'I want to be like George Michael' Kruger enters the department
from a south easterley position of the building.

My attention is immediately drawn to the sunglasses firmly rooted to
the top of his head.

My thoughts on the subject?....Hey Stephen! If you really want to be
like George......,
then the public toilets are.....thattaway.

A conversation that would have huge ramifications for the department,
ensues.
Wait for it...calm down...I know............I know, its just that I am
having trouble believing it myself.

He asks a question. A question related to a helpdesk call. Christ! They
are actually working on a
helpdesk call. This creates wild behaviour in the department. Picture
it if you will. Banners, whooping noises.

There are people even laying on the floor in some sort of worshipping
position.
Oh, no their not. Its just Christine playing with Tim's daughter's
present.

There is something most bizarre about a grown woman laying on the floor
making baby noises.

Stephen leaves. Boo! We all cry. He's off back to the land of the
RSC.

RSC as you understand, means Remote Support Centre. I wonder if that
means the blokes stand around
holding up the women's gazumbas!?

Nigel 'I would love to stick my balls in your net' Rapley drifts in. He
doesn't appear to do anything.
He justs drifts. Off he goes again!

Rachel and Elaine decide to go through that, quick lets measure our
Bums and Boobs before Jo gets in scenario.
I can just about hear the conversation. They are attempting to be very
discreet, but don't worry ladies,
I heard that bit about 300lbs.

Rachel asks Dean for a tape measure. Dean immediately enquires what
for? Then makes some comment about her
bending over, and she won't feel a thing.

Don't worry Dean. I am sure we can all chip in enough cash to send you
to one of them specialist clinics.

They stand united by the tape measure, bitching over where each of them
started the measurement from on the tape.

I mean. Come on girls. As if 2mm is going to make any difference.

Of course, the result is that they have gained 4 gazillion pounds.
Alright. Not really.

Hold on, back the oestrogen truck up a minute.

Between the 2 of them, a mind numbing 5.97 ounces.

I have noticed though, that they are both wearing 'off the shoulder'
trousers.
You know the type. So called, cos they can't get them up past their
knees.

Sorry girls. My mistake. The end of the tape measure is a fantastic
15mm, or 1.5cm, or 0.059055 inches. Fantastic!

We all dive for cover. An earthquake.

Jeff whips out his Richter Scale.

Blimey! That was close. No need to panic. It's only Tim. Boy oh boy,
does he walk heavy footed.
Hey Tim? What in the hell size feet have you got?

Think about this. The next time Timbo walks past, listen and
look.

Most of us, when we walk, move one leg in front of another, then its
heel down, moving onto the
front ball of our foot, and off from the toes, to the next step.

When Tim goes, it looks like his legs are moving up and down perfectly
at 90\\% to the floor, thus
creating that booming effect, just like Basil Fawlty impersonating a
German.

Don't worry Tim, its not that bad, but someone just phoned British
Airways to complain that Concorde appears
to be flying over Farnborough, every 5 seconds now.

Never mind, but remember, you're not on a parade ground here you
know.

A funny thing happened just now. I went to the canteen to get a
drink.

20\\% discount the sign said. Yeah, Vendecrap's machines are only
dishing out 80\\% of your drink.
Is this another cutback I wonder?

I reckon the odds of getting what the hell you want from a machine, are
about the same as winning the Lottery.

Upon my return from lunch, its there. That god awful pong. No, not
Jo.

Its Elaine and Charlotte, attempting to eat something hideous from the
canteen.

It smells like curry, looks like curry, but apparently tastes like
poo!.

Simon, you pillock, the curry is mean't to resemble Vinda "loo"..., for
god's sake.

That's it. I can't it take anymore. I'm going upstairs for a fag and a
coffee.

Hey! Guess who I bumped into. Paula "Do you think my highlights make me
look younger' Ryan
is busily attempting to extract some drinks from the machine.

Can't help but wonder why she needs all that black coffee.

Oh. I sussed it now. She's been over the pub again with her motley
crew. You know'em. Sheena 'The banker' Keith,
and Dorothy 'I haven't got any money to pay you' Pearce.

Occasionally, Jenny "Lapdancer" Puckey follows in hot pursuit. Yes, I
said Lapdancer, and I definitely said 'P'uckey.

If you look on Dorothy's desk, I am sure you will find an A-Z.

No, not directions, but a list of all wine serving establishments this
side of the Zambeezee River.

Well, just to let you in on a little secret. They start at the top of
the list, and systematically go
to a different place everyday.

Hmm. There I was in the Crab and Pisshead the other lunchtime, and in
they all came.

I could just about hear the mutterings of them placing their
order.

The barman asked what they wanted. "3 wines", 'whined' Paula.

"What the hell are you doing, man?" She screams at the barman.

"Sorry madam?" he replied. "You asked for 3 wines, did you not?"

"Yeah, numbnuts, Three B.O.T.T.L.E.S"

So polite. Can you just imagine what they are like when they've had a
few...... well I can!

Can you believe that these people control the cash for CAS?

Hey girls. When you've had a few and you're a bit, you know... "not on
this planet", lob a bit in my direction
would you, cos you certainly don't lob it in my agencies
direction!

Swampy came round this morning. Talk about laugh. A part of his hair
was sticking right up in the air.

Imagine if you will, Cameron Diaz in "There's something about Mary",
and you'll know what I mean.

Hey swampy. Go on............ tell us what type of gel you use mate,
cos it certainly weren't brylcreem.

There I was, searching in earnest for Patrick 'horizontal' Riley, but
just could not find him.
When I eventually did, I didn't like to disturb him.

He was completely horizontal. When I asked somebody if he was alright,
the reply was that he's always like that.
He's just a very laid back type of guy.

Hey Patrick. If you were any more laid back mate, you'd fall
over.
What are you, an Australian or something?

Rachel should be back tomorrow from her girlie weekend at Center
Parcs.

Can you imagine that. A group of giggling girls let loose in the
forest. Hmmm, So that's where they got the idea
for 'The Blair Witch Project'.

Dan 'I love playing with my mobile bits' Milton has arrived. Boy, oh
boy he loves his mobile.
Hey Dan! I bet you've got Vibrating Alert on yours, haven't you?

Just please...... take it out of your pocket. It's just no fun, seeing
you walk around like a tripod all day!.

While we're on the subject of blokes. Who in the hell gets changed in
the men's without shutting the cubicle door.

A few times now, I've gone to go to the loo. When you open the inner
door, you are immediately
confronted by a large mirror, which reflects everything from the
cubicle side.

Believe me, there is absolutely nothing attractive about another man's
hairy butt!

Tim comes storming round offering everyone a finger. PHEW! For a moment
there, I thought..........
Fortunately he was offering everyone a free almond finger cake from the
canteen.

Me, like an idiot tried one. YUCK! They taste like curry!

Simon? Are you really a head chef? Have you really had any
training?

Suppose it could all be Aileen's fault. Probably just her fag ash in
the mixing bowls.

Plinkity plink, plonkity plonk, clashity clash.
This the music for our Christmas bash!

There'll be Tim 'fingers' Galley on the keyboard (maybe some should
tell him you're supposed to sit behind it),
John 'look at the size of my horn' Peedle on the trombone instead of
playing it, and a young female vocalist of
oral delight.

With this set up, god knows who's going to play Santa!

How about Piers? Oh...... he's left. Remember him? He was the guy with
all the charisma of a house brick.
I'm sure the girls remember him.

But hey girls. He did drive a Jag. Don't girls go for flash
stuff?

Nah, I reckon he saw it as an extension of himself.

Can't wait for our department Christmas do. Can you imagine how much
material I will get from that.
I have a plan. Withdraw huge amounts of the folding stuff from the
bank, and ply all of 'em with drink until they
crack and give all the juicy goss!

OK. I want a show of hands. Hold your hand up if you want to play
Santa. Think about it guys,
all those lovelies sitting on your knee. Come on, hands up.

Don't you feel a prat now?. Look around you. I bet everyone's laughing,
wondering what the hell you're doing.

I bet you never thought you were that gullible.

So I shoot into the canteen quicker than a rat up a drainpipe. If I'm
quick enough, I won't get
badgered into getting drinks for the 5,000.

I furiously punch out the necessary combination for caffeine.
The machine dispenses milk.
OK, lets try......ummm......chocolate. Nope, no good, got water.
Right, that's it I think......Cappuccino. Nope, still no good, jammed
cup. Oh Bollocks!

Let's try the machine upstairs. I don't believe it. Quasimodo's still
filling it.

By this time, I'm gagging, so I discreetly go back to my desk, and wait
for someone else to offer a drink.

"Got any mints Tone?" asks Charlotte.

"Yeah, help ya self." I reply. What is it with mint's? Does nobody else
have any?
Am I the mint king of Europe?.........Please, no comments about my
breath either!

I know..breakfast. I need breakfast.

There I am, in the queue. A whole mangetout of people in front of
me.

Mangetout you ask? What the hell has peas in a pod got to do with
anything. Well, all our desks are
bloody close together.

God, CS are getting toast and bacon sarnies. 25 rounds of bloody toast
and sarnies, with every topping imaginable.

Of course, my turn arrives. Aileen moans, no change there then! Have
you ever noticed how long that toaster takes?
World War 2 was over quicker than getting brown bread out of that
thing.

In fact, there is no toast. You either get anaemic bread, or
ashes.

Great. My two slices are ready. Course, Aileen deems that to cut my
toast for me, she has the bright
idea of using the same knife she cut those sarnies with.

The end result, toast layered in a mustard, ketchup and mayo type of
effect. Ummmm.........lovely.

Still, better than being served by the 'Head Chef'. He wipes his hands
down his trousers in between servings.

Have they never heard of latex gloves? They're not only used for
certain types of examinations ya know.

Charlotte has broken out in Mandarin speak. It's a sort of chinky
noise.
This is what she said to a user on the phone.

"ah so!"

This short succinct statement, actually means:

"Of course Sir/Madam, I would love to help you in any way that I can.
Please take advantage of me in any way
you feel appropriate, and that I will forever remain your slave"

A bloke from the RSC was round earlier, commenting on how guys must
feel when they have a lovely bird on their
arm and they are getting all eyed up by other fellas. Yeah, you wished
mate!

And as for birds, that's no way too speak about some of the lovely
ladies around Computeraid.

Some may be a bit plump, but they're not exactly turkeys.

There I was, sitting all quietly in the smoking room and a girl with
more rings in her ears
than you'd find on a curtain pole, enters.

"Morning Swish" I said. "Sorry?" she replied.
She obviously didn't get the joke. Must be another turkey then.

Now there's an idea.........

Why would you possibly need 900 rings through your ears? Apparently
it's all the rage nowadays.
The mind boggles.

Wow there really is some serious foot damage going on in this
department!

Charlotte is desparently trying to make a point but then shoots herself
in the foot with it.
Whilst hopping about and dropping the point, Rachel picks it up,
turn's it into another point and shoots her own foot, Charlotte tries
to wrestle the point back off her
because she really needs to shoot her other foot so it matches.

Elaine and Jo see there is a trend being set here and not wanting to be
left out with undamaged feet,
come running in. But only manage to incur minor toe damage before Tim
has to get all sensible and tell
them to put the point down before someone gets really hurt! and takes
the point away and puts it in the cupboard.
Gee just as it was getting border line dangerous.

Bet they forget to lock the cupboard though!

More news on the companies policy of banning kettles in the corporate
HQ-I am supplementing my 5p per cup
habit by becoming a highly successful reseller of thermos flasks and by
holding regular
Tupperware parties at all executive meetings.

Flasks and Tupperware are guaranteed vermin-proof you know.
However, it appears that bosses are on the counter-offensive. In the
past few weeks, you will hopefully have
noticed that security has been stepped up. We now have a 'greeter' at
the office entrance to help us check that we are still CAS
employees.

The more cynical among us understand that in reality this is a thinly
disguised Tupperware,
thermos flask and powdered coffee/milk check.

Hey, Bosses! You don't fool me you know.

Our tech support as you well know, is top of the line.

This is a genuine extract from a call that was logged.

"Help, my mousepad is not working!" cried the user.
"OK, its probably because your mousepad is incompatible with your
operating system"
Tech Support replied, "But first, lets try rebooting said pad. If that
doesn't work I'll call you back"
"How will you know?" enquired the user.
"I'll watch you through your monitor!"

Our technical training is tops is it not?

Turns out this morning, Charlotte will be late in cos she's got to go
to the dentist again.

I reckon its just an excuse. I reckon the dentist is really "Bob the
Knob" in disguise.

There I was, patiently waiting to cross the road the other lunchtime to
go to Safeways, and
someone I know saw me from across the street.
He whistled extremely loudly to get my attention.

I spotted him and mouthed back "How are you?, haven't seen you for
while". Of course, I only made
the mouth and body movements. No sound actually came from my
mouth.

He responded in the same fashion. Mouthing something but with no actual
sound.

Have you ever noticed, that this is how people behave when trying to
communicate over long distances?
They don't actually speak anything?
Surely , if you want the other person to hear you, you actually have to
speak using your voicebox?

See there was this joke. A young lad, had a rich father, and every
year, his father would ask him what he
wanted for Christmas.

"OK son, what do you want this year?"
"Well dad, I wouldn't mind a boat"
So, his dad bought him the QE2
The very next year... "OK son, what do you want for Christmas?"
"Well dad, I wouldn't mind a TV"
So, his dad bought him the BBC
The third year, his dad again enquired what he wanted for
Christmas.
"Well dad, can I have a cowboy outfit?

So, his dad bought him our company!

As I sit here, there's a guy (don't know his name), but he has gone
right up in Charlotte's face.
What the hell... Oh my god, they're comparing teeth......... they're
comparing their bloody teeth!! Eewwwww!!

Now that's a Kodak moment!

Just come back from popping up to see Larry Grayson. You know, Richard
"shut that door" Moulson.

I knocked on the door and went straight in.
"Don't stand up on my account Richard" I said.
"I'm not, I'm still sitting down" he replied.
"Of course you are. Silly me, my mistake".

Now, I'm not saying he's small, but the other day he was missing in
action for 3 hours.

Turns out he had fell off his chair, and disappeared into one of those
little traps in the floor where you plug your PC in.

God only knows, why such a small person would require an office, which
is 3000\\% bigger than he is.

So that makes his office a total of 2 inches by 4 inches.

See, if CAS want to save some cash, buy him a dolls house.

Argos, do a lovely little Barbie one, with a door that locks too
boot.