My boss was busy. Downstairs, out on the shop floor, crowds of youngsters on their half-term holiday were pouring in through the door demanding the latest fashions to wear incorrectly. I, the unkempt apprentice, was given my chores for the day and left to complete them. This was going to be a trying day. Piles of boxes had been set aside for me to process and unpack. If only there were an easy way to deal with this onerous task... If only...

In the dark and stygian stockroom, I opened a carton of jeans (stonewashed, low pockets, zip fly, 13 to 14 year olds) and lo! What is this strange garment wedged in amongst the trousers? Gasp! A woolly hat! Well, the temptation to try it on was too much. Sadly I too suffer from being unable to wear the latest fashions correctly so the various descriptions of me were...

J - "You look like you burgled my house"

Miss L - "You look like a beggar"

KS - "It suits you, Caldrail. Makes you look like Santa Claus"

My Boss - "What's the matter, Caldrail? Your head feeling cold? Hmmm?"

You probably get the picture by now. I would describe myself as Noddy at a heavy metal gig. Or perhaps Santa's Little Coal Miner. Still, it made the stockroom a fun place. Now, as for these boxes... The first was easy. Then another. Then a trolley was filled and more boxes arrived to fill the vacuum left by my endeavours (cue The Nutcracker Suite). I was indeed the Manageresses Apprentice.

The Wizard Of Blighty

After being snowed under with unpacking I decided to get rid of some of the waste cardboard that had pretty well filled the aisle. I spotted Miss L standing in the lift. She glowered impatiently with arms folded. What's up, L?

"'Kin lift won't work" She moaned. She was right. The doors remained open defiantly. Okay... Let Caldrails Magic Woolly Hat work wonders... I studied Evil Lift for a moment then tapped the brushed aluminium door frame. DING! and the door slid shut with Miss L staring at me in stunned amazement. Well I'm not australian so I can't claim to be the Wizard of Oz, so instead, I'll settle for the Wizard of Blighty.

News From The Dole Queue

Miss M has now decided that her former target is no longer of any interest (mostly we suspect because the poor lad complained of being stalked). Unable to spend life without her primal urges satisified, she spent the day at the Programme Centre (after I'd left) reserving her future boyfriends by marking them on the back of the head with a black marker pen. An excellent idea for finding partners at short notice. Simple and easy to do. Such is her determination to find true love amiongst the dole-seekers that she's decided to keep on turning up even now her thirteen weeks are finished. I have no idea which bloke is her current object of obsession, but I hope he likes temporary tattoos.

On this subject the Malignant Pixie has begun to show interest in KS, and tried to arouse his passion by demonstrating her ability to swallow a pen whole repeatedly. She desperately needs to stop eating sugar too.

Falling Over

There's a building site just a few doors down from Department Stores Ltd where another rival store is rebuilding its premises. Today the facade fell over. The area was cordoned off, police and other disaster services wandering around asking people to move on, there's nothing to see here, but sadly it was too much for one old lady who tragically collapsed. Strictly speaking, a joke about this event would be crass and insensitive, so I'll move straight on to the next paragraph...

Gah!... Urge to poke fun rising... Cannot resist pressure to write gag.... Oh all right then. It was KS's lunch break. No, really, it was.

Smugglers of the Week

Three and a half hours before I sat down to write this blog entry a pair of women attempted to smuggle a corpse through Berlin airport on a wheelchair, telling everyone the man was merely sleeping. Luckily airport staff are trained to spot dead bodies and immediately became suspicious. The smugglers are now detained for questioning. Wasn't there a comedy film about taking a dead man on holiday? Life imitates art. In this case however, the two really ought to have declared the man dead for tax purposes.