Bishop's Fantasy World

It's no picnic lunch sitting at a desk opposite Bishop. He lives in a delusional fantasy world inhabited by sci-fi freaks and astrological birth charts. He boasts that he has memorised the star signs of the entire cast of Star Trek. And it is a crime the neglect that is inflicted on his desk plants, his watering schedule is a disgrace. I told him bluntly that if he wasn't prepared to look after them he shouldn't bother to keep them in the first place. He said that I shouldn't waste my time worrying about the lower orders of life. God knows that I try to tolerate the twerp but he can be irksome beyond measure. When I got home this evening Susan wasn't in the least bit interested in my problems with Bishop, although I can hardly blame her for that. Rather that talk she preferred to fiddle with her mobile phone. I have begun to notice that she has been somewhat distracted of late. It has reached the point where she has abandoned her makeup, although I have no intention of remarking on the fact. The last time I commented negatively on her appearance she told me, rather coldly, that my eyes have too much blue for their own good and that my hair lacks ambition. She says it has a tendency to tuft about in the wind like carelessly sown wheat. I have probably left a cushion in the wrong place again. Either that or some relationship mishap or eyelash catastrophe has befallen one of her extended clan.