Salad Dressing

Whaddaya mean I’m rubbish at updating this thing? I’ve also got very rubbish at doing general day-to-day stuff recently, like getting my hair cut. Anyone who knows me will tell you that my hair only grows in one direction (upwards) which means I’m now taller than Peter Crouch wearing a policeman’s helmet. I’ve been struggling with stuff like that now that I don’t have Fridays off (I’ve not been struggling with Peter Crouch in a policeman’s helmet, you understand – just the regular non-kinky stuff) and I quite honestly don’t know how the rest of you wage-slaves cope.

Anyway, enough excuses. Something weird seems to be happening to me (or rather the people around me) every lunch time. Important people who I don’t know very well will sit next to me and then obliviously decorate themselves with their dinner. Something seems to trigger in their brain as soon as they’ve parked themselves in my proximity and their mouth becomes a no-go zone. It happened on my first day - a reasonably senior lady sat next to me and was engaged in a very important-sounding conversation with the person opposite her when she fired a piece of cabbage into her hair. And I mean right into her hair – I could hardly see it. Everyone bar me seemed oblivious to this; the conversation was just carrying on so I didn’t say anything. And that cabbage is probably a patch by now. But I could hardly pipe up on my first day; my first contribution to the lunchtime discussion: “Oh look, there’s some cabbage hidden in your hair!” Everyone would think I was weird. A couple of days later it happened again; another fairly senior bod sat next to me and bit into his sandwich, squirting pesto all over his groin. He just carried on munching in blissful ignorance, I mean - what could I say to say to that? I can hardly point at his groin and say “You appear to have garnished your nuts with sandwich sauce. I’m Matt by the way” and hope that he won’t regard me as some kind of sex pervert for the rest of my life. So in order to avoid these culinary predicaments I’ve taken to eating at my desk, which seemed to be the safest option. But now my boss has taken to bringing cakes into the office, which means I’m doomed.