Over my coffee I read this morning’s news. The countryside is shrinking, more about Iraq, some guy in his 40s who wants Bush and the Iranian president to get drunk together (an unrealistic proposition I think as I’m pretty sure they are both teetotallers).
Once I’ve finished reading, I make my way to the office. I work for Henderson’s, a DVD and video retailer who owns an office in Sidborough.
The office is set in Maple Road, just off Fort Goldfax street. The building is much like a glass house with identical sets of stairs, which was built in the middle of this decade.  The sunlight upon it glistens, but in a vaguely threatening way.
The usual procedure follows: I press the button for the second floor, where my office is, and say that I wish to sign in. The buzzer goes, I open the door and enter reception. I smile, and greet the receptionist before taking the stairs to the second floor.
Henderson’s is a friendly place where we know each other by our first names, though the manager, Johnny West, is typically referred to as Mr. West. There he is in the corridor, looking flustered as ever. I think: “Is there really that much of a workload, or does he just pretend?”
I am a webmaster for the company, which basically involves monitoring sales, updating and maintaining the website, and sitting around doing nothing the rest of the time. I do not mind this.
After two hours of examining the orders and saving them to the database, I go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea.
Lisa is here today. She is someone who I think rather likes me and who I rather like as well, but I wonder if I’m really allowed to like her. What would people think of us?
I bring up this morning’s news. What does she think about the countryside?
‘That’s life. We need houses, and greenfield is the best place for them.’
I reluctantly agree that, on the whole, building enough new houses is more important than the countryside. But, does it have to be either or?
‘I don’t know the answers, Simon. Why don’t you find out on the Internet?’
‘The trouble with that, is that 80% of the stuff you read on the Internet is nonsense.’
‘Oh come on! The BBC website should be fine.’
‘Oh ok, I’ll check it out.’

On returning from work this afternoon I decide that I will go into the countryside and make my very own nettle tea. There are several nettles growing near where I live, so it is a kind of natural selection. It is a wise idea to get some gardening gloves for this operation, though it is possible to go through it with your bare hands. It is possible to use scissors but I find that using a cutter is my method. You carefully pick the nettles (preferably the small, young ones) then add them to your container. Once you get home you wash the nettles to rid them of soil and insects. They then need to be placed into a pot with enough water to just about cover them, and you then boil them until the water becomes slightly green – you can test by lowering a spoon into the pot.
You then remove the nettles but for a stronger taste it is best to leave them in there for a while. It is possible to serve nettle tea with sugar and sliced lemons but obviously you don’t have to. 
Why do I bother with this when I could buy ready-prepared nettle from some shop? Basically because I love nothing more than the feeling of a job done myself. Even if I do it badly (and I think I have done well in this case) there is something very authentic about it. It shows you exactly how it’s done and the process itself of foraging for local plants and making them into a delicious drink is an enjoyable one.

I do buy ready-made teas as well though. I buy a variety of different teabags every so often – Raspberry & Ginseng, Chamomile and Blackcurrant are the main ones I’m into at the moment. I also buy loose plant material from the herb shops in town.

I sip my nettle tea and watch the Young Ones on DVD. It is a very surreal programme. I guess this is what is supposed to make it funny. To be honest, I think it would be funnier though if it were a bit more down-to-earth. Written by Ben Elton as well; a dubious guy who seemed to switch from left-wing to right-wing rather quickly. It amused me, that time I watched a TV programme and it went on about him and his new friends. Some people think that even back in the 80s, he never believed in his politics. I never liked Blackadder either. Admittedly, I’ve never read any of his novels: I may get one or two out on loan but I’m putting an alternative cover on them as I definitely don’t want people to think I’m a fan!
 
On Monday, I am back to work and pretending to be a ‘normal’ person which is something I know I will never really be capable of. I bump into Lisa while posting a letter and ask her ‘What is normal?’ To this she replies ‘I don’t know’. She looks at me with her deep brown eyes, and she seems perplexed at first, but soon her lips pucker into a smile, and it’s if she can read my mind. She seems so wise! I don’t know why she doesn’t just forget the office and become a sage.

 When I get back to the office in the afternoon I do some filing. I basically have to put the records in alphabetical order, something which I waste no time over. When I come across the record for Lisa Anderson, I cannot resist the opportunity to take a quick peek. Apparently she went to Sidborough College! (This is where I studied for sixth form, before going on to Fort Goldfax university). And, no, she’s not married. She started working at Henderson’s three years ago and is 5 years my senior.
I feel a bit guilty at having snooped but try to console myself with the fact that it wasn’t for malicious purposes.