The knock at the door of my studio was followed by a gurning Ted, weighed down by a cardboard box that was slightly too big for the doorframe. I swivelled around in my chair to watch him shuffle it this way and that, to no avail.

‘All right there?’ I called, remaining right where I was. It was Tuesday and I hadn’t seen a single soul in my cave for more than a week. Whenever I emerged, Gollum-like, to grab something from the fridge, everyone on the main floor stopped what they were doing and watched me, as though I were a Victorian orphan rummaging through their personal snacks. So, no, I didn’t exactly rush to help him out even though my self-imposed rudeness cut me to the bone.

‘Won’t … fucken … fit,’ he grumbled before dropping the box on the floor and kicking it inside. ‘There we go. Where there’s a will and all that. How’s your day going?’

‘What’s in the box, Ted?’ I asked, unmoved by his pleasantries. I’d only been working there for a couple of weeks but I already knew better than to trust a Ted bearing gifts.

‘You’re going to love it,’ he replied. ‘It’s for Friday.’

The other half of my studio already looked like a warehouse, absolutely rammed with cardboard boxes. They were piled so precariously I had to text Lucy every time I went in there in case they collapsed on top of me and no one upstairs noticed. We had posters and flyers and badges and cardboard versions of all of Snazzlechuff’s various masks for the WESC audience to wear, as well as USB sticks, water bottles, mini fans in case it was hot, scarves in case it was cold, and what looked like adorable branded flannels but I had been assured were little, tiny towels that the audience would whip around above their heads to show their appreciation. I had shown my appreciation for them by taking half a dozen home so I could double cleanse with wild abandon. Never had my face been so clean. Ted had spent more on branded merch for a podcast that still did not exist than he had on me. But still, I was getting free flannels so who was really winning?

My boss opened the box slowly, lifting one flap at a time and attempting to make a drumroll sound with his mouth but since he couldn’t really roll his Rs, it sounded more like a wet fart, which somewhat sucked the tension out of the moment.

‘Whaddya think?’ he asked as he yanked a huge, furry tiger’s head out of the box and held it aloft.

‘Ted, did you sacrifice a tiger?’ I whispered as he presented it to me, proudly. It was far too lifelike for its own good. ‘I know the podcast is important to you but those things are endangered.’