Why does it always rain on me?

I was going to walk into town today, but it was chucking it down so I walked to the Boots in the retail park round the corner instead. I'd forgotten about the gas works round the back of the office building where I work - there are all sorts of weird pipes of different colours and sizes jutting out at strange angles like something out of an old Monty Python animation or Brazil. Terry Gilliam obviously had a strange pipe fixation.

I wondered why terrorists don't try to blow up gas works. This one would be a doddle with handy on street parking right by the front gate, although the car would probably be broken into and the bomb stolen judging by the number of little piles of broken glass that dotted the pavements not to mention the used condoms. Ewww - glad I don't work here after dark.

The retail park doesn't compare with the Corn Exchange for nonching purposes - a Currys, Comet and two other electrical type retailers, a Staples, an Argos, Bathroom and Flooring showrooms and a Boots that seems to make most of its money selling sandwiches at lunchtime. Not a huge amount of choice, and they seem to have stopped doing the sushi that they used to have. No, I do not have a Boots card.

Back to the office, and I see in the signing in tick sheet that a guy I used to work with in the old Sheffield office is in today so I went looking for him. He used to have the strange Asperger's habit of standing by your desk rabbiting on about his various obsessions while you were busy working and obviously ignoring him. Today, I was the Asperger's case as he was on a customer site stepping through live code to find a bug. "I have to keep typing otherwise the connection times out". Oh. I know when I'm not wanted.

I'm sat on my own in the upstairs office as all of the project managers have disappeared into meetings and none of them have made me a coffee since I made a round this morning. Hmmmm. Seeing as the manager I wanted a word with isn't in and there is no clue in her outlook diary as to her whereabouts I might as well have worked at home today and I would have had nicer coffee as well.

I'm tired as well, the air con isn't working leaving the office hot and
stuffy and the rubbishy catering pack of instant coffee here just isn't
cutting the mustard today. I was woken up at three in the morning by my own farts - the most vile, noxious, burningly hot sensation that propelled me to the loo for twenty minutes or so. Is this still the after effects of the weekend chilli or something else that I am incapable of digesting?