by Paul

"It's colder than a yesterday up in here!" - anybody in my office

I keep shivering. I need a jumper. Can I wear my hoodie at work? Will it make me look unprofessional? Hoods are for the unprofessional. Professionals can afford detachable headwear. It's one of the perks of being on top of things.

I have so much to tell you about! I'm wearing a shirt. And you?

No, I'm not wearing you. I was asking if you were wearing a shirt. The misunderstanding was perfectly misunderstandable.

Remember when you were a child, and they'd make you sit on the floor? What was that about? It was demeaning. The floor was hard, as well. We'd have to sit through long assemblies with a hard floor beneath our cheeks. A carpeted floor would have been fine.

I think it was a way for the adults to prove their superiority over us. "Think you're big shots?" was their implicit rhetorical question (all implicit questions are rhetorical - if you want an answer, you need to explicitise).

"You're not big shots," they'd continue. "You don't even have chairs. You're already smaller than us, but now we've made it undeniable. Irrefutable. Plain. We tower over you. So don't talk, or fight, or answer back. Don't ask questions. Questions are for the chaired. You're not chaired. You're the lowest of the low. Literally. Except for the children in the basement. And they're dead. DEAD."

They said all this with their eyes, but the meaning was clear.

That's why, when I'm  the headmaster of a school with all the proper permits, I'll insist that children are suspended on harnesses three hundred feet in the air. All of the teachers will be in pressurised chambers six hundred feet below sea level. Our assemblies will instil in our swaying, terrified children a sense of importance. They (the survivors) are our future. We are subordinates.

We can teach them about fire safety on Skype. The risks will be illustrated by the magma swirling around our staff room.

Mmm... magma. I could do with some of that right now. It would be a welcome relief from the cold.

OK. Well, it's nearly break time. Let's reconvene here in about... fifteen minutes? Get yourself something to drink, visit the lavatory, and be back here by twenty-to at the latest. That's right: twenty-to. Yes, it does look odd written down.

***

Great - thanks for being so punctual. Are we all here?

Where's Neighthan? Oh that's right - he has a music lesson. He's learning how to play any trombone.

The agenda from the second half is on page three of your handout. The first page is the agenda for the first half. The second page is the agenda for the first page.

Let's just check that we got through everything.

Talk about how cold it is? Check.

A thing about hoodies? Check.

Children on the floor? Check.

We didn't cover Austria, but we can come back to that at the end.

In this session, I'm hoping that we can deal with some of the issues that have arisen from being alive.

I'd like you to all draw a picture of me and then post it on the internet.

Split yourselves into groups. Now re-coagulate. Great.

***

Sorry about that up there. Remember my last entry? The one about depression? That was proper writing. It was on one topic, and made some arguments. So I can do it. It's just that, as I said earlier, it's pretty cold.

I'm reading a book at the moment. It's Freedom by Jonathan Franzen. It's a rare foray for me into modern fiction, and it's a bit depressing so far. All modern fiction is.

Anything happy is frivolous. And anything short. Short and happy is a disastrous combination for a successful writer. That's why Sandy Toksvig is considered bad luck in literary circles. They have to cross themselves whenever she enters the room, and refill their pens with fresh sorrow.

I'm only reading Freedom on the recommendation of a former colleague/"friend" (let's call her 'A'). I can see why she liked it because she was an IDIOT.

That's possibly a bit harsh on 'A', but for all you know, she could be fictional (just like 'S', '88' and 'Felicity').

All of my friends, and most of my "friends", are fictional. That's why I don't get invited to many weddings or sued for libel more often. It's a great way to live. I'd recommend it.

Sorry - this was originally going to be sensible, to make up for the nonsense above the asterisks (the creepy twin in the asterattic). But I lost my way. I'll write a proper review of the book when I've finished. It will be interminable and lacking in insight, but will feature a photograph of me holding the book, looking intense.

***

Oh, you're still here?

Sorry, I thought I'd published this. It can get a bit confusing. Sometimes I have three browser windows open at once, just in case. It's hard to keep track of what I've done and what I haven't, who I've ogled and who I haven't and why I've succeeded and why I haven't.

I'll get this onto the internet immediately. It's not something that people will flock to, I'll grant you that. But the photo I'm going to put at the top of it (which I've yet to choose) will raise a few smiles down at City Hall (or if British: the Council Offices).