In a dramatic turn of events, both the collection bucket and Toby Salt’s poem have disappeared. An email circulated from HR. It stated that ‘following a staff complaint that the collection did not conform to one of the company’s annually approved charities, the decision has been taken to remove the collection from public display. However, should staff wish to make a donation to this very worthy cause, then they should follow the link below’.

I got my head down for the rest of the day before heading home to a quiet evening of kale and quinoa salad, with a side serving of Proust. Before climbing into bed, I made an online donation of £100 to the East Africa Famine Appeal.

Friday March 23rd

There was no sign of movement at Number 29 this morning so I put his bin bags out for him, using up his five-bag allowance and then adding three more of his to my own pile to help clear the backlog. I spotted Mrs McNulty peering out warily at me through her net curtains and making the sign of the cross.

I went into work to face the horror of ‘Dress-Down Friday’. In protest at such a ridiculous gesture of enforced corporate jollity, I taped a poem (unsigned) to the water cooler machine:

Vive La Revolution!

Let others march to another drum.

Take tyrants down by sword or gun.

Or guillotine them one by one.

A button I shall leave undone.

Manifestos some may construct.

Their forceful words inspire, instruct.

Or heads of state they may abduct.

I shall leave my shirt untucked.

Let others preach from their soapbox.

Call walkouts, strikes, erect roadblocks.

Launch missile strikes from behind rocks.

I shall wear unmatching socks.

From the vantage point of my officle, I watched Richard Potts, the HR Director, reading it as he helped himself to a cup of water. I could see his lips moving. He shook his head and then removed it, ripped it up and threw it in the bin. The poem that is, not his head. He eyed me suspiciously as he strode past my desk in his Ramones T-shirt.

Saturday March 24th

The Day We Argued About Roman Numerals

Even now in my mind

that row remains VIVID.

We tried to stay CIVIL

but ended up LIVID.

With the cessation of footballing hostilities for the Easter holidays, I’d drawn up plans for some quality father–son time with Dylan. I’d be the first to admit that he hasn’t seen me at my best recently and what any teenage boy needs is a strong and positive male role model in his life. Particularly one with plans largely centred around the sofa, the television and home-delivered pizza.