Doctor and hospital fees. The cost of street repairs.

The perilous state of their financial affairs.

The Super Tax hit them. They took out a loan.

They were dispossessed of their grand Mayfair home.

They’re in jail now. But no sign of contrition.

Last week, they won a crossword competition.

I’ve had another one of my dreams. I walked into the sitting room to find Liz reclining on a Monopoly board, naked except for a thin layer of banknotes which covered her like a cheap paper duvet. Laughing, she asked me to ‘strip her of her assets’. I began to peel the notes off her one by one, and slowly her smooth, pale skin revealed itself.

Each banknote stripped away, I would then set alight and we laughed once more as the paper crackled in the fireplace. But as I took another glance at the flickering of the flames, I noticed that, to my horror, it wasn’t Monopoly money at all – it was my redundancy money. The door suddenly crashed open and we became surrounded by policemen and fire fighters, and before I knew it, I was being carted off to the cells and I hadn’t even picked up a get-out-of-jail-free card.

I looked this up in my Dream Dictionary – once I’d located it on my bookshelf – but there was no mention of Monopoly nor any other property-based board games so I am none the wiser as to what it all means.

Friday May 18th

At three o’clock, I heard the dread squeak of the drinks trolley wheels as they trundled their way over to my officle, a desultory crowd of well-wishers and other ghouls trailing in its wake.

Janice said a few words about the enormous contribution I’d made and how the place wouldn’t be the same without me. I recognised most of it, including the amusing anecdotes, from her speech when Chris Jenkins left a couple of months before. In turn, I got up to say that although there were many things I’d miss about working here, the thing I’d miss the most was the wonderful people I had been so privileged to work alongside. I’d borrowed this speech from Chris Jenkins when he’d left a couple of months before. I was presented with a leaving card and the token gesture of a £25 book voucher.

Tomas was amongst those who gathered, having rearranged a seminar he was hosting on Wittgenstein and the Rules of Language in order to make an appearance. We have swapped phone numbers and vowed to stay in touch.

It wasn’t long before my imminently erstwhile colleagues began to drift back to their desks. I collected up my few remaining belongings, put them in my bag and slipped out the back door without further fuss, keen to avoid anyone who might hear the rattle of paper clips and staples in my pockets.

Saturday May 19th