I'm eating my butties in the staff room. At one end of the table there's a discussion about the problems Larry Adler must have had when playing the harmonica, what with being a vampire and that. Another group are surreptitiously eating licorice and hoping that Mary won't get them into yet another conversation about her league table of favourite licorices. Luckily, she's commandeered a conversation about one of the girls' husband's heart condition and steered it inelegantly towards 'What we did with the Beaver Scouts last night.' Two people are staring intently at their Pot Noodles, hoping not to catch Mary's eye and trying not to smirk at the idea of someone scouting for beaver. Another of the girls is rehearsing a conversation she's going to have this evening by pretending her ham sandwich is a mobile 'phone. The blackened banana on the staff room table is in its third glorious week. In the corner are four large carrier bags full of bubble wrap, not all popped. At five past one the clock played 'Dardanella' slowly then died. Every person who has come in has slumped on the chair and said: "Oh God..."
I'd go to the pub but it's full of fat solicitors talking about their Body Mass Indices.