Contact lenses

The stationery was delivered this morning. Delivery continued throughout lunchtime and into the afternoon. By two o'clock we couldn't move for boxes of A4 paper. Crazy Horse almost burst a blood vessel with rage. His temper wasn't improved by the fact that it took him ten minutes to escape from his office. 'Who ordered the stationery?' he bellowed from behind a barricade of boxes. I left the office just before he stampeded his way through, too embarrassed to face his wrath in public. I let Frances explain that I had made a small typo on the demand. We now have enough A4 to last us through to 2020. On my return to the office I was summoned to the stable to explain myself. The vein on Crazy Horse's neck was still throbbing disconcertingly. I could hardly take my eyes off it as it puffed up and down; not unlike the throat of a randy bullfrog in full call. I was subjected to a twenty minute tirade about the current economic environment and my ignorance of basic protocol checks. When he had finished I left weary and lightheaded. I took little consolation in the fact that my colleagues presented me with an impromptu award for the biggest cock up on the stationery demand since Archie D had misread the order form and ordered 2000 staplers. My mood was much improved in the afternoon when Bishop lost one of his new trial contact lenses. He demanded that everyone remain in their seats while he scrambled around the floor on his hands and knees with his specs, as a makeshift magnifying glass, in one hand and a desk lamp in the other. I couldn't resist crunching one of Mrs C's lemon sherbets underfoot much to everyone's amusement. Bishop searched for over half an hour, finding nothing but lemon sherbet shards and a few paperclips, before giving up. Shortly afterwards he discovered that he had managed to put both lenses into the same eye. He has decided to stick with his glasses for now.