Monday
As the bitter winds begin to curtail our enjoyment of autumn,
the first signs of Christmas make themselves apparent. The Trading
Standards people have got in first this year. Their Christmas party
is on Friday, and I was invited. I accepted immediately.
For one thing, we have not done any development work for that
lot this year, so I should be fairly safe, and for another they
always have a good stock of counterfeit whisky.
A further inducement is the news that I have been paired with
that new social-work team leader in the secret Santa draw. The one
with the black hair, green eyes and a red sports car.
We wrote a secret Santa allocation programme as a gimmick a few
years back and stuck it on the intranet. It is a genuine
random-number-based engine, except there is a hidden feature that
parses the list of invitees and matches us ITers with our own
pre-entered fantasy partners.
Tuesday
Anton's incredibly complex online fantasy football service is
not going so well. I am currently at the bottom of the league with
minus 625 points - 350 points below my nearest rival.
The humiliation is hard to take. I keep noticing people pointing
and sniggering. This must be how a Leeds United supporter with
erectile dysfunction feels when he realises he cannot solve easy
suduko.
Wednesday
Meeting with HR. They want to know why we spend so much on
training but never send anyone on their in-house development
courses. I bluster, unconvincingly, and in the end am badgered into
registering Dave and Charlie on a one-day health and safety
awareness seminar.
Thursday
Mavis wants to know why I never send her on training courses.
Good point. I suggested a basic keyboard skills course, and she
threw my coffee at me.
Friday
I left early for the Trading Standards bash where a bad week
reached a truly awful climax.
Charlie neglected to tell me that we had not done any
development work for this lot as their new system has been given a
low priority in the plan. I am besieged by supplicants whose life
has been made unbearable by a lack of new IT systems.
Then, I find that my secret Santa partner is not coming. She has
left me a present. I unwrap it to find a packet of shortbread. I
was about to retrieve mine - a set of exotic lingerie - when a man
snatched it up saying he would ensure she got it. "The husband"
whispered the head of Trading Standards. "Another drink, Phil?"