Snow! I love it when it snows, however, this wasn't about to set me in a better mood as I marched over to my car to drive off to the post office with the large parcel and several letters I held under my arm. In more favourable weather I'd walk, however, it was getting very cold and I didn't fancy the prospect of dropping anything. Besides, I was tired, fed-up and my hands were bleeding from having spent almost three hours copying and folding over one-hundred and fifty drawings for tender. The same finger bleeding experience occurred only a couple of months ago, when I had to prepare two-hundred and sixty drawings for tender. Seriously un-cool.

A few minutes earlier I had just about managed to keep my cool with our secretary, who decided she couldn't deal with the post herself, just in case it interrupted her plans for later in the evening. Must be hard having to answer a phone, type letters, look after the accounts, making tea/coffee four times a day, and working fewer hours than the rest of us. Not to mention the rather generous salary she's on. Perhaps I should wear a skirt to work?

The post office was quiet, though busy for 5PM on a Wednesday. Come the morning, the foyer would be heaving with the masses of old folks coming to collect their pensions. Placing the parcel on the scales I asked for first class delivery and passed a ten pound note over the counter. There wasn't much change left over, not even enough to grab a copy of the Guardian from the newsagents. No matter, I wanted to get back to the office.

In total I'd been gone about four minutes. Our secretary was just leaving as I got back and didn't care for the fact that she could have gone to the post office herself, fifteen minutes ago. She was more concerned with telling me how it was snowing, just in case it had somehow escaped my notice while I'd been out. Expecting her to admit fault is even more difficult than getting blood from a stone; and when I last checked, blood from a stone was still listed under force majeure.