I was in a meeting with Brenda, Martin, Ian and Janice today. Martin was humming “Spring Time for Hitler” as he sipped on a steaming cup of Bovril.
“Yep. Yep. Yep.” Ian was stroking his Yoda (circa Attack of the Clones) tie as he made yet another point of objection.
Janice, her eyes now so big she’s wearing goldfish bowls for contacts, was shifting her support from Ian to Martin.
Martin drained his ‘Best Boss in The World’ cup of its beefy liquid and started to get passionate, slamming the table, pointing furiously.
Janice moved to his side nodding, tight-lipped. Brenda interjected, urging compromise, her hands diplomatically trying to draw them together.
The smell of tuna and onion from Brenda mixed with Bovril was making me feel queasy and I was uncomfortable with the tension in the room when attention turned to me. They wanted me to have the casting decision, I said “Look. Does it really matter where we go on our Christmas do?”