Claire, my fiancée, is good to me. She keeps me in check. Without her, I would probably be roaming the streets, eating from bins and sleeping on park benches. One of the things Claire helps me organise is meals. We plan what we are going to eat for the following week. I have prepared a list of all meals I will be eating at work for the upcoming week. Today was supposed to be a toasted sandwich. I have one of those fancy bags you put in a toaster, along with bread, cheese and whatever else you want to eat hot. This is supposed to result in a tasty meal. It may result in a burnt down IT Department. Not to worry, we’re getting a new building in the Autumn, anyway, so it’s not the end of the world if I do cause a fire. Despite extensive meal planning, I forgot to prepare the bread, cheese and tomato the night before. Not really ‘forgot’, it got to 10pm and I checked the meals list. I was tired, wanted to go to bed, and thought “fuck it”. We have a sandwich man who comes into our department every morning, delivering freshly prepared lunches. They’re always very nice, but rather expensive. Today’s offering included stilton sandwich. This was a bit exotic for me. When it comes to cheese, I limit myself to cheddar, BabyBel or if I’m being adventurous, Dairylea. He kindly offered to go back to his kitchen and make me a traditional, simple cheese and pickle sandwich. He’s coming back with it soon. Hopefully I’ll get it before my break. It should be about £3, but in theory, as we were yet to agree a price, he could charge me £3,000. Rest assured, I’ll let you know what time the sandwich arrives and how much I am charged. I’m sure you have sleepless nights if I don’t.

Moving on from sandwiches, when I was out and about on my travel, I was nearly shat upon. Not by a person or a badger, but by a bird. At least I assume it was a bird. Some excrement fell from the sky at my feet. I didn’t see the perpetrator, so it could be a flying pig for all I know. Earlier on this morning, I entered a syndicate for the Euromillions. The jackpot is £85,000,000. Apparently if bird poo falls on you, it’s lucky. Therefore, in this instance, I was slightly disappointed it didn’t hit me. I could do with a few million pounds, if only to pay for my cheese and pickle sandwich.

Not only am I still short of a sandwich, I can’t even get a hot drink. The water boiler is broken. We do have an old, limescale filled kettle at the other end of the building, but that is far, far away, and us IT workers are generally lazy. I will therefore do without. In honour of the late Rik Mayall, I am tempted to make myself a cold cup of tea. As we don’t have any hot water in our building at the moment, I can even use cold water from the hot tap (to save wear and tear on the cold tap). Anyone who has seen Bottom will understand what I’m rambling on about. Anyone who hasn’t will think I’m mad and will have probably stopped reading, or called the men in white coats to take me away (long overdue).

Believe it or not, I am doing some work this morning. I’m not just blogging and ordering sandwiches. I get a morning break. During this break, I’m writing this blog. A decade of blogging has given me experience of typing and coming up with complete, random bollocks to blog about in a very quick period of time. 

So that was my morning. How was yours? Far less exciting, I bet!