Yesterday Graham visited the office to see how the Dartantian campaign was coming along. I tried desperately to forget about his wig, but it seemed to be wonky, his fringe was at an angle.

“I have listened to some of the calls and I am unhappy. That bloke Simon, him with the woolly hat, he took an order for delivery to Standish. We don’t deliver to WIGan.”

My nostrils began to flare.

“That girl Susan, got an order completely wrong, so much so I had to step in after she had said HER PIECE and speak to the customer myself …”

I gasped a breath and held it.

“It was so sloppy – like she couldn’t give a FIG – she told the customer that there was nothing TO PAY … what’s the matter?”

I feigned choking and left the room immediately.