Midweek blues. Its a pain in the neck how you have to get through those five days just to give you a chance of having a laugh in the other two. That's unless you work shifts, of course, and end up going in on a Saturday, like I did last week. They've not forgiven me for turning up late then, you know. And for going home early. They suspect that it was because I went out drinking but they can't prove it. They'll never be able to. Unless they find someone who saw me in a bar or with my curry they've got no chance mate. And the chances of anyone here being anywhere near me then are so small that they're laughable. There's no way that I'm going to lose sleep over it.

There's one annoying thing that I have to tell you about. I get told off again this morning. Believe it or not. There I am walking in here with my Walkman on, playing the sweetest soul grooves and Harriman calls me over.

"Can you go and see Mr Prime", he says.

I put the Walkman down. Colin Prime’s the boss, the head of the section, the Accounts Manager. In his late fifties, he’s climbed the greasy pole the hard way and is seeing off his last few years before retirement by attempting to instill the work ethic in his juniors. I’m a challenge he takes a good deal of interest in.

"Sam, Sam, come in", booms Prime as I walk through his door. He’s sitting, grinning away, his thick brown hair brushed back. "Sit down over there".

I sit down.

"Sam, Sam", said Prime. "I've called you in to see me on account of your time keeping. Now, Sam, Mr Harriman tells me that you were late again on Saturday".

"Yeah, Mr Prime. That's right".

"Well, Sam. You were late again today as well. And I'm telling you, Sam, that its not good enough. Not good enough".

"No, Mr Prime".

"I mean, I've been there, you know. Same as you, I was once. You may not believe it now, Sam. But I was".

"Yeah, erm....".

"There are things that I've picked up over the years, Sam. And one of them's that you've got to get your timekeeping in order. No doubt. Because unless your timekeepings in order, then nothing else has got a chance, has it".

"Er, dunno".

"No, I don’t suppose you do. But I can tell you from my experience, Sam, that you've got to get your timekeeping in order".

"Thanks, Mr Prime".

"So, Sam, I'm telling you that you've got to improve your timekeeping. I think Mr Harriman mentioned that you are on a temporary contract. And I want to say it as well".

"All right".

"Good".

"So....".

"An'...."

"Right, Mr Prime. There is just one thing that I should mention". A stroke of genius has occurred to me.

"Yes, Sam?".

"Thanks for being so open with me. I'll make every effort to do something about it. But I've got this neighbour who's ill and I feel responsible for her. Sometimes I have to go round there to see she's all right". I stop talking. I can’t quite take in the degree of bullshit I’m spinning. Prime becomes concerned.

"Sam, I had no idea. How old is she ?".

"Er". I didn’t think of this. "Old. Dunno what age. But old".

Prime asks me all about her. I carry on, having to bullshit in a major way to make Prime think that she’s real. I nearly start laughing. But I don't. Prime smiles.

"Sam, Sam. You should be proud of yourself. If there were more young people like you, the world would be a better place. If you have problems getting to work because of her , come and see me ". He’s as sweet as a nut.

I make my way back to the office and watch as Harriman goes in to see Prime. I sit laughing. After a few minutes, Harriman comes out and walks over to me.

"Sam", he says. "I've been told about the problem you've got with your neighbour".

"Yeah, Mr Harriman".

"Well, I think that what you've been doing is an example to us all. If you need any time off, just let me know".

I nearly start to laugh. "Erm, thanks", I say. That’s all I can get out without bursting into laughter. Harriman goes back into his own office and I give way. I rush over to the toilet, lock myself in a cubicle, and let out a long and deep laugh. I’ve got myself an excuse whenever I fancy some time off. And no one’ll be able to prove otherwise. I have another giggle and go back to my desk. I start working, opening orders from customers and sticking them on the computer. That's what my day consists of, just entering these details and making sure that they're right. Its just as boring as you can imagine. And if you get it wrong, there's a hell of a load of hassle when some angry customer rings up and complains about you.

There's a few of us who do the same job. Staff are changing all the time as people find other jobs or get bored with it. Sometimes someone gets the sack. But it doesn’t happen often.
On my left's this bloke who I call Colonel Blimp – AKA Teddy Andrews - he's your classic old school business type who’s had his career, retired at fifty five, and come here to fill up his time until the benefit boys give him his pension. He‘s forever moaning about everything - how the company works, how bad the managers are and how they wouldn’t have got away with it in his day. He talks in this fake plumy accent – in reality as flat as they come - and loves to take it out of them by asking all sorts of stupid questions. He cracks me up sometimes when he’s on form. But at others he’s a pain in the backside. And I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess at what he thinks of yours truly. Well, I’ve got an idea I suppose. But I wouldn’t want to go on about it too much. He's a contrast with the bloke on my right, who comes under the description of The Most Wasted Kid On The Planet. I tell you, he's not just pale looking, he's grey. He's obviously done some serious stuff in his time and for a bloke who's not even thirty yet he looks ancient. He comes in in the morning and nods and that's that. Nothing else. I've never heard him speak.

So you can tell that its a bundle of laughs at this particular mail order company. Take this afternoon. Prime’s in trying to find some records. He gave them to me the other day to put on the computer database, but I haven’t had time to do them yet. He won’t let up. I think I’m heading for a fall. But I’m rescued by a bang against the door. Prime and me look round, to be greeted by the figure of Colonel Blimp falling into the office. He’s passed the day so far by a visit to the bar on the twelfth floor for two hours, interspersed by occasional visits to the office. As it's now after three, when it closes, he's, by necessity, coming back to work.

"Afternoon chaps", he says. "Having fun?".

Prime puts on a ridiculous smirk that says that he simply wants to get out of the room.

"Yes, Teddy. We're just looking for some records for Coopers Ltd. I don’t suppose you’ve seen them?".

"Well if I had I don't know that I'd tell you", he says. I try to hide the overwhelming desire to laugh. Prime doesn't look amused and I need my job more than Colonel Blimp needs his.

"Oh dear", says Prime, well that wouldn't help then”.

"No it wouldn't", says Colonel Blimp. "But, would you like me to look?".

"I don’t think that'll be necessary", says Prime and turns to me. "If you find them would you tell me". He walks out of the office.

I fall down into my chair and start to laugh. I look at Colonel Blimp who's sitting with a bullish look on his fat, red, face. His nose is even redder.

"How the hell do you manage to get away with it?", I ask.

"Easy. That little fool won't do anything. He's too scared. When I was in the Middle East I had servants who would have laughed at him".

Its typical this. Total chaos while The Most Wasted Kid on the Planet sits there out of it. Mad. Too much. Which explains why I'm pleased to hear my mobile ring in the middle of the afternoon and Joey's dulcet tones start to come out at me at a hell of a pace.

"Sam, mate", he shouts. "'ow you doing".

"Fine Joey, fine".

"Good stuff. What you doing tonight?".

"Nothin, Joey".

"Well, lets meet and have a laugh".

"Right".

"You on for it?".

"Yeah, course I am. Not been out for ages".

"See you in Yates’s".

"Sound".

Dunno what he's up to but he's certainly in the mood for a crack. I put the mobile back in my bag. I tell you, it annoys a few of these, me having a mobile. They’re so behind the times that they think you should only have one if you've got a bit of dosh and can afford to have it as some kind of accessory. I know what they can do. I'm sure you can tell. I just sit back and look forward to the laughs.

Joey's sitting with Simon when I arrive in Yates’s.

"Sam" yells Joey. "Over 'ere".

I get a round in and join them.

"I told you, didn'a, Sam",said Joey. "I'm going to this away match next week. Should be a riot".

"Yeah, Joey".

"You should come".

"Can't afford it, mate. Or I would".

"Gonna be a laugh it is. Don't moan to me that you missed it".

"I won't Joey".

"Anyway", says Simon. "I'm doing another gig next week. You're coming to that, aren't you?".

"Yeah, course, Si. Should be a good one".

"When is it?",asks Joey.

"Not sure. Coming?".

"Yeah, if it don't clash wi the game".

They’re both full of enthusiasm and are rattling away and I sit here and laugh. I’ve missed them since the weekend. I like their energy and genuine need to get into the laughs and make the most of every moment. Its excellent. And now its Wednesday we’ll be out every night until Sunday.

I haven't seen Tina since Saturday. I didn't expect to and anyway I'm not bothered. Or so I tell myself. But its not true. I’m just trying to forget about her. Neither Joey nor Simon has mentioned her. They’re too preoccupied with having a good time. Its a good night. We do the rounds and have some beers and a sing. Then the bars close and none of us have the dosh to go to a club so we decide to come back to my place and have some coffee. We share the cost of a taxi and are driven to Lenton where we go up the stairs to my bedsit. I turn on some sounds and make a drink.

We're talking none stop, about anything. Its that post-pub feeling of being up and into the crack and just wanting to go on and on. We start arguing about the merits of various footy teams, from Liverpool to the Man U of the sixties compared with now. We have a long disagreement which gets heated about something unimportant. Joey starts shouting and then there's a knock at the door.

We shut up and I go to the door. There's this bloke standing there who comes up every so often to complain about the music being too loud. He's a pain.

"Er, could you turn that down, please?", he asks, in an irritated and whiney tone. "I've been trying to get to sleep for ages. Its a bit much at this time. I've got to be up tomorrow morning".
I look at him. I want to tell him to get lost but I’ve heard that he sometimes goes and complains to the manageress. So I bite my tongue.

"Yeah, sorry mate", I say. "We'll turn it down".

"Thank you". The bloke goes away.

Joey looks at me. "What the 'ell do you think you’re doing?", he says. "'Who the hells that? You should argue with him".

"I know what you mean", I say. "But he complains about things like this. I might get kicked out".

"You wimp", yells Joey. "You've got loads of mates".

"I know", I laugh. "You’re right. But we'll keep the noise down anyway".

Joey looks angry. "Only if you insist".

We carry on talking. I make them another coffee and put on some more sounds. We get carried away again and go on about clubs. Then there’s another bang at the door. Its the bloke again, shouting this time.

"Listen, mate", I say as I open the door. "There's no noise from here. You've just got to put up with it".

"No. Not right. I'm not having it. Its out of order". He walks into my room and turns the stereo down himself. That gets Joey going.

"Listen", yells Joey, standing up. "'Who do you think you are? How do you reckon you can come and tell us what to do?"

I try to break it up but the bloke’s having a go back.

"I can't believe what you're saying", he says. "You don't even live in this place".

Joey’s about to deck him when I get in between them and stop the row.

"I'll turn the sound down. Is that enough", I ask.

"I suppose so. But keep your idiot friend in order", says the bloke.

That’s too much for Joey. He’s mad. He follows the bloke out into the corridor.

"What do you mean?", he yells.

"Oh, keep quiet".

"You what".

It carries on like this until the bloke realises that Joey’s going to lay into him. He goes quickly into his own room. Joey bangs on the door.

"Gerrout 'ere. I wanna see you", yells Joey until I pull him off. Simon’s behind me.

"I'll tell you what", says Simon. "Lets go. Sam will get into trouble".

"All right", says Joey. “But only for Sam. If it wasn’t for that I’d have it out with him”

They leave the building, Joey shouting as her goes. I go back to my bedsit.

I get a rocket in the morning. The bloke complains to the manageress and she calls me into her office.

"Mister Mills", she says, in her elocution English s. "I am afraid that you were naughty last night".

"Yeah, Mrs Jones", I say. "I'm sorry. We got a bit out of order".

"Yes, Mister Mills, you did". She’s a formidable woman. "We do not put up with that sort of behaviour".

"No Mrs Jones".

"If it happens again, you'll be out. Now, just go".

I leave the building and catch a bus to work.