Friday, 29 July 2016

Gangsta's paradise...

Master B returned to work today.  You may remember that I mentioned he was heading off to Europe for a long weekend of sightseeing and culture with some friends.  How anyone could spend five days in Portugal and come back paler than they went, is slightly beyond me, but as he filled Master P and me in on the holiday, it all began to make sense. 

After wild nights out (and most of the mornings as they weren't getting in till 7.00am) all of them would sleep till the afternoon, going out just as the sun was melting back into the sea each evening.  Basically, he had not seen daylight for five days.  I am going to suggest he takes some Vitamin D tablets to ward off the possibility of rickets. Who knows when he might need to stop a pig in a passage in the future?

Notwithstanding the milky pallor, there were things to be thankful for.  For a start, he didn't get third degree sunburn this time.  He told us that he'd been slapping the factor 50 on all day just in case.  By 'all day' I suppose he means that seven minutes between getting out of the hotel and into the first bar in the evening.  Well, you can't be too careful I suppose, and to be fair, his skin looked beautifully soft after all that moisturizing.  There was also no evidence of another drunken tattoo.  (We've been here before you see).

Master B and Master P are very good friends outside of work, and as Master B walked into the office at lunchtime, Master P slapped him on the back, and said, 'Welcome back gangster'.

Now correct me if I'm wrong, but 'gangster' to me means shoulder pads, tommy guns, Al Pacino and a violin case.  It does not bring to mind a twenty six year old who's fond of a city break, brings a packed lunch to work and loves fantasy football.

I glanced across to Mr W, the slightly older Voice of Reason in the office. 'Has anyone ever called you 'gangster' before?' I asked.

'No', he replied.  'You?'

'No, me neither'.

Something to aspire to, I suppose...
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