Sketcher

I was back in the Glasgow office today. The camaraderie and holidayishness of the last couple of weeks in Edinburgh now just a fading memory, like the itching after that time I shaved my happy sacks.

It was with a heavy heart I opened my mailbox. It was creaking at the seams with unread emails demanding URGENT ACTION and meeting invites. The invites writhed venomously in my inbox like a nest of snakes.

With great reluctance I started accepting the ones I couldn't avoid.

I appear to be in the minority but I have always been of the mind that it is better to do something rather than meet and talk about doing something.

After ploughing through some mails I went to the first of many meetings armed with my trusty notepad and pen.

I have a thing about notepads. I like a good one. One with good pages, preferably unlined, so that when I get bored I can draw things and pretend to be arty yet also look as if I am thinking out of the box if someone challenges me.

Like the time in a strategy meeting I drew a giant skeleton standing on a bed of skulls holding aloft a scythe dripping with blood.

What are you doing there?

Asked some ponce annoyingly.

This? Oh, it helps me elucidate my thinking.

The ponce backed off, no doubt to look up the word elucidate.

So, today was spent running from one meeting room to another, nodding and looking sage when people talked technology.

It was in between such meetings that my fourth coffee of the morning was pressing insistently at my bladder like a dog pushing at the door to the beef cupboard.

I had my notepad under my arm and my pen in my mouth like a jaunty cigar and saw a toilet nearby. I pushed open the door to go in. It had two doors like an air-lock. Obviously required if you have ever experienced the eye watering stench of your average IT workers Chelsea whoppers.

As I was opening the second door another guy was leaving, he had a contractor pass around his neck. He stepped back to let me through. His gaze took in the notepad under my arm and then trailed up to the pen in my mouth.

Hey hey, what's going on here then? What you up to with them?

He seemed to be serious.

I took the pen out of my mouth and gestured toward my notepad with it.

This? Oh, I am just going to sketch some cocks. You up for it?

The guy staggered back as if I had just struck him soundly across the face with my meaty bangstick.

Wha'... What?!?

His face jigged about like a ferret was under it looking for a mouse.

At that moment the door behind me whapped open and someone else tried to come in. I recognised him, it was Joob Joob from my floor. He was an alright guy.

Aye aye, what's the hold up? Is there a queue?

Asked Joob Joob jovially. Men often do get a bit jovial in the throne room. I have no idea why.

This guy wants me to draw a picture of his cock?

I replied incredulously.

What? What the hell man, are you a bloody pervert or something??!

Cried Joob Joob.

I certainly did not!

Said the pervert contractor.

Bloody did so.

I said defiantly as the guy shook his head and pushed past out the door.

I bloody didn't!

He yelled over his shoulder.

The door slammed closed. Joob Joob laughed.

Winding up the contractors again?

I winked.

Yep. I just can't help it!