So this weekend we had friends to stay and my eight year old is keen to show off his newly acquired tea and coffee making skills. He quickly builds a small but loyal customer base. Next up a bit of market research in order to establish new revenue streams: “How much would you pay me to make your tea and coffee all weekend?” Come Sunday and he’s charging 19p for a mug of coffee and 22p for a cup of tea (additional stirring required). At the end of the weekend, having turned a healthy profit, I promote him to EVP of Hot Beverages…

Meanwhile at work, we’ve hired Cat, complete with one year’s work experience and a shiny first from Bournemouth University. A month into her new job, “Cat,” I say, with loaded intent, “Would you like to take over our social committee?” All sparkly-eyed and full of first-job enthusiasm, she leaps at the chance. And so last Thursday, 18 of us herded into The Comedy Store, with our jugs of beer and hamburgers balanced on our knees for a bit of jolly team bonding. So far so good. Then Jason Rouse takes the mike. Titanium-toothed and tattooed-encrusted, Jas zeroes in on boundaries and tramples all over them. And as he charges manically from one really-no-go-subject to another, annihilating every single one of your cherished values, I watch our collective team smile become ever more strained.

And I can hear Cat whimpering beside me as she contemplates an alternative career, one based primarily around asking,  “And would you like fries with that?”

As it turns out, I have spent far too much time living in the U-rated world of Harry Potter, so I really rather enjoyed my exposure to (way) beyond the fringe humour. So for now, her voluntary job title as head of our social committee stands. But Cat, and here’s the rub, what are you going to do to top that? I feel exotic ladies adorned in little more than sushi really is the only way to go…