Got in late, due to intense global warming under my duvet. Opened my post, including regular junk mail from Projector company with the snappy line 'Are you projecting the right image?'. As I projected it into the bin the phone went and it was the projector salesman asking whether I'd received his letter. I reassured him that it had been forwarded to the appropriate department. I've told Hayley I don't want to speak to him but somehow he always gets through. I've put him in touch with all sorts of people I don't like but he keeps coming back to me. I'm beginning to think he's a stalker.
Got in late, due to appalling traffic congestion. I blame the Third World. If they kept up with their debt payments we'd have enough money to build a few more decent motorways. Looked in my diary and saw a stream of meetings I don't need with people I don't like about subjects I don't give a monkey's about. Asked Hayley to clear my diary, which she seems to be able to do very easily and no-one complains. Well, they might want to complain but as my diary is clear they don't get the chance. Sat quietly doing some general management in the inside of my nose. Only call that got through was a follow-up from Mr Bloody Projector. I pretended I was the window cleaner and, no, he didn't need a projector either.
Board meeting with new IT director Malcolm Denby, who demanded we upgrade to Microsoft XP for its increased functionality and intuitive interface.
Somewhere in the company there must a BULLSH department from which IT have been separated at birth. Bill Peters is already calling Denby 'XP' because he's exactly the same as the last one but much more expensive.
He's also wilfully and excessively short. I bet he could walk under the boardroom table without ducking his head. When I suggested that our money might be better spent on something useful like bonuses, Denby had a cute little temper tantrum. Bill drew a big rattle on his agenda and then threw it on the floor. Denby's clearly got a bad case of SMS - short man syndrome. It has the same effect as PMS in women, only it's permanent.
Got in rather late after long breakfast meeting with my cornflakes. Found a nasty little technical type interfering with my computer. He said he was installing new XP software that even the web-disabled like me could use. Opened it up and my first e-mail was from Projector Man following up his phone call. This made me feel a bit low, so I did some gratuitous e-flirting with some standby totty, sending her a quick note: 'Mr Bojangles after work tomorrow, mine's a Babycham.' Then called up Bill and we went for lunch. He asked me what was happening on Friday and why I was drinking Babycham. Thanks to the intuitive bloody interface I'd sent the e-mail to everybody in my contacts file. After a couple more bottles of The Big Red Facilitator, we got excited about the party I'd inadvertently arranged for everyone.
Got in late, due to alarm being insufficiently alarming. Did some general management and then adjourned to Mr Bojangles with Bill. We played the electrode game - you have to choose between sleeping with two swamp donkeys in the office or it's 40,000 volts in the underpant department. I was a bit miffed when Bill suggested a woman I'd already seen to voluntarily.
I still have a photocopy of her backside in my Suppliers file. By seven we'd collected enough bottles for a council recycling pick-up and I was wondering where my party was. I was on the way out when a complete stranger rushed up saying he'd only just got my e-mail but he had some great news. His latest projector was XP compatible. Oh joy.
'Weak at the Top - The Uncensored Diary of the Last Cavemanager' is now available, published by Prentice Hall at pounds 7.99. John Weak can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.