You can't curry love

t'was the day after the night before.

The office appears to be quite buoyant today, as no doubt the majority of my esteemed colleagues indulged in the obligatory Valentine's Day carnal activities the night before with their respective wives/partners, as they all seem to been tres cheerful, of course, with the exception of Sean. He is as stressed and cranky as ever. Thus far he has failed to laugh at anyone's jokes and flat refused to be made a coffee this morning. As I look across my desk at him now, he's looking very worryingly at his computer monitor and whilst holding his chin is shaking his head with a look of disbelief. Of course Sean is the only singleton in the office, and Valentine’s day does little more than to emphasise loneliness to the single dwellers amongst us. In fact it's only really enjoyed by couples celebrating their first valentines day together.

It's a woman's thing.

It's American.

It's gotten out of hand.

Fat Karen, as far as we know, is also single. She left her husband last year of some 25 years as she was having an affair with someone she'd met in an internet chat room. Of course, this was a very difficult personal time for her and her family, and although I'm not exactly her greatest fan I felt genuine sympathy for her. Naturally I was the only one to do so.
When she left the office once to answer her mobile phone after it had happened and returned looking very upset, she decided to have a smoke in the rear car park to calm herself down. Lee's comment upon seeing her in this state was "sort your head out". He didn't say it to her face as no one is brave enough to do such a thing here, it’s all done behind the victim's back, or in my case written down on the internet.

I recall that I stuck up for her and explained her predicament, he then informed me of the FULL story, and without wanting to judge her, my sympathy did wane somewhat. I also encountered the phrase "you don't bring your personal problems to work" for the first time.
I wonder what they would have said behind my back when i took seven weeks off work to be near my mum when she was at death's door?

Funnily, I was having a chat with her (Fat Karen that is not my Mum) the other day, and she explained that her teenage daughter turned up at her flat in Southport saying she'd had enough of living with her dad and wanted to live with her. She was so pissed off with this, and told her 15 year old that she couldn't live with her. I had to look impassive as she told me this for fear of reprisal. Again, I don't know the full story there but it's not exactly going to win her Mum of The Year.

I do actually still feel sorry for her sometimes, but not often, it’s usually repulsion. The sight of her hideously long and over manicured fingernails on her exceptionally fat fingers, covered in the orange fragments of Wotsits whilst she talks with her mouth open on her mobile, coughing and spluttering away is enough to make me want to take the 2litre bottle of Pepsi she always has on her desk, and club her to death with it.

Either way, Fat Karen isn't in today.
She's off sick.
On the office’s whiteboard someone has rather sardonically written:

"Karen- Off Sick- Abscessed tooth"

Everyone's been grumbling about this (except myself and Early Doors Gerry), and they've got a fair point. Bob heroically pointed out that he's had an abscessed tooth for ages and has visited the dentists on several occasions during his lunch break during the last few weeks and he doesn't indulge himself in such luxuries as 'sick days'. To which I replied that at his age it doesn't matter, as I doubted he has no feeling left on the left hand side of his face anyway. Oh how we all laughed...except Sean who was still looking bemused with his usual rye smile and a shake of the head as he plows through further emails.

I believe that my colleagues are all thinking the same: She was either up all night emailing some sad twat in Surrey or Warwickshire, or she was out on the lash, either way she's not going to be missed as she is rarely in the office anyway, the only noticeable difference is there isn't the smell of Ciggies/perfume/cat piss/toast.

Last night, I made the whole Valentines Day effort. I got a card and present for Lisa. What could say 'I Love You' better than the gift of a Tropical Fish Shaped Shower Radio, several games of shit head whilst drinking Cava and over indulging on a fabulous Take Away Curry? Who said romance was dead?

Alas, Lisa didn't get home from work until nearly 7.20pm, and I made the school boy error of putting the dead lock on the flat door....again...ooops. This is without question, one of Lisa's pet hates "You know how much you get pissed off when you see people reading Harry Potter on the train- locking me out of the flat is the same deal for me" Fair enough. To make matters worse when she came in, the rose petals weren't exactly lining the stairs, rather i was sat on my arse enjoying a can of beer whilst playing ISS 5 Pro Evo listening to Slint. Thankfully my charm, once again, rescued the situation.

Anyway, I’ve now had this headache for three days. A brain tumour does not sound unlikey.