Christmas Eve at work is like being in a morgue (I can only imagine, since I’ve never actually been inside a morgue). Phones were dead. The only call I got all day was from Noel, telling me that they were five minutes from the office and did I remember anything about work being carried out in Croxford Gardens?
I got more pressies at work: wine and chocs from Mark and Noel. At 10.30am, they decide to take me out for brunch, since there’s nothing better to do around the office. We drive around Haringey, trying to find a café that’s open, and find this little place off Seven Sisters Road, which seems to be inhabited by a bunch of people over from Lordship. I confiscate The Sun off Noel (he never skips page 3) and we all had a nice non-work-related chat. About 11.50am we stroll back into the office, and most of the people who could be bothered to come in have already gone. Air kisses and handshakes are exchanged between colleagues and, by 1pm, the only people left in the office are myself, Dennis, and Olubisi.
About 1.15pm, Dennis comes over and says, “I‘m on call out until five, so if you want to, you can go now.”
I ask him if he’s sure.
“Yeah, it‘s no problem. I bet no-one will ring anyway.”
Well, I don’t need to be told twice, and I’m out of there like a shot!
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