I've had people pushing chocolate cake on me all day. If it wasn't bad enough trying to avoid everyone's Christmas confectionary leftovers that litter the office, at least three people have birthdays today. If you refuse their offers of cake, it's like you're defying the Mob. So you come back to your desk and there it is, a horse's head in cake form, reminding you there is no escape.
This, I don't need.
I had to put a suit on this morning for the first time since September, and I could barely do it up. It's like opening a tin of corned beef and a mattress pops out.
As for my hair, I look like Peter Noone at the moment, so that doesn't help one's self-image. Though what do I care. It's karaoke on Thursday, when I unleash my inner Aznavour. All decorum goes right out the window.
But mark my words. By the end of Feb, I'll be back to my old, sleek-as-a-jaguar self, he lied.
