DPM's diary

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?"