Dear Octopus,
A lunchtime note today, if you'll indulge me. The world of Action Squid has dissolved into outright chaos; work is flying around this messy desk like a colony of bats (yes, that is the correct term), and an increasingly desperate smattering of pink post-it notes is barely managing to list all of the work that needs doing, or all of the people I am yet to call back. A horror story of administrative mismanagement, if anything, and it's not impossible to visualise myself capitulating suddenly to all of this frenzy......then spending the rest of my life dribbling porridge in a rocking chair, listening to Enid Blyton audiobooks and muttering inanely about the escalating price of veal.
That being said, the world would be a sorry place indeed if I didn't have the time to pursue the usual endeavours that I so ritualistically enjoy (euphemistically filed in my diary as 'miscellaneous admin'); namely stealing Laura's pens and replacing them with empty / broken ones of my own, now defunct, signing up Cowboy Dan to the mailing list of the Socialist Workers' Party, exchanging emails with Jim regarding fantasists, psychopaths and serial killers currently in the news (a morbid fascination with the anti-social that I gleaned from my mother), and finally stopping in at the bunker to chat with Alex about football, X Factor, lunch venues and new ideas for cheating our way to professional advancement.
(When I said that I gleaned an interest in psychopaths from my mother...I meant because she's interested in them too. Not because she is one.)
After all of that, work doesn't really get a look-in. I wish I had a pertinent point with which to conclude this long exposition, but at present it eludes me.
In other news, the housemate situation is now dire indeed. Belle leaves for sunnier antipodean climes next weekend, and as yet we are still sans replacement. That - and my faulty radiator - is really starting to keep me awake at night. I'm tempted to say that we should offer the room to Katie Waissel. She could use a 'friend' these days.
As usual I hope you are well, and - as the seasons are so rapidly gravitating towards it - looking forward to Christmas. From the way you once described the annual festivities, I imagine they're quite an affair in your house. Maybe best to ask your mum not to cook those oatmeal cookies that she so loves. They were disgusting.
Your loving friend,
Action Squid
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