There was a general lack of managers at work today. Under normal circumstances that would be a recipe for noise and mucking-about, but with my dole payments in doubt I had other things on my mind. I even had to go to the Job Centre this afternoon to force them to arrange my 'Back To Dole Seeking' interview. Talk about DIY.

Meanwhile, back at the stockroom, the quiet atmosphere was making it possible for others to attempt a spot of entertainment. Somewhat carelessly an asian lady started singing to herself whilst she searched the shelves for required stock in something of a 'whistle while you work' mood. Asian singing is complex and very odd to western ears, but she was tuneful, so when she mysteriously and abruptly ceased, I yelled across the stockroom for her not to stop. It's very cultural, I said. She burst into an insane fit of giggles. It was like the Wicked Witch of the West in a good mood. What a racket. At least she was amused. I always find these asians something of an alien culture.

There's a guy who occaisionally comes up from the shop floor. We recognise him by his odd hairstyle which involves bundles of hair sticking out each side. KS thought he looked like Doctor Who which amused me somewhat, proving that all the Flash Bang Wallop of the new series rather distracts viewers from the essential realisation of just how little story there is. Anyway, I asked him whether he was the Doctor and he said no. I think he was telling the truth - He looked a little bemused by my questioning.

Actually it is interesting that I mention Doctor Who, because his TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimensions In Space - I am such a geek sometimes) - the time machine that looks like a police box from the 1960's, is larger on the inside than it is outside. Sort of what happens in our stockroom. We have a different spatial configuration than the rest of the store and today the shop assistants put that to the test by constantly bringing stock up the lift to be stored. Unfortunately our relative dimensions are much smaller on the inside so the stockroom is now a mass of tangled socks and wobbly cardboard towers. Trust me - No Dalek could possibly reach us. Today I repaired various collapses of shelves and made new ones from spare bits scavenged from various black holes which are quite common in our cardboard continuum. For a brief while I even became an organic component of the stockroom architecture. Just part of the furniture.

You could even stage a complete Doctor Who adventure in our stockroom. Where do all these work placementees go? Why does the telephone always stop ringing just as you finally clamber over jumbles of discarded boxes in a mad frantic rush to communicate with the outside world? How does J access the universe outside the stockroom, and what does he do with this mysterious power?

More From Miss L2

Although KS failed to 'bash and dash' with Miss L2, she is never far from our thoughts. Apparently she's uploaded more jpegs of herself on a Facebook page and KS has seen them already. Now young Miss L2 says that she's a honeytrap, drawing men in. If that's the case, she certainly doesn't know what to do with them when she snares them in her machiavellian schemes. J made a somewhat gleeful observation that he would be like a bee, buzzing in to fertilise the flower. Thought you needed birds for that? Oh... I see what you mean. Well... I added that bees always fly back to the nest and communicate the directions to their great new find by way of a strange dance. Maybe J's bee-ness isn't so strong after all.

Evidence For UFO's

A few days ago I watched a television program about UFO's. The Secret Evidence or some such title. Out of curiosity I sat down with beer in hand and yes, the aviation expert hosting the program dredged up every single possible cliche to do with strange lights in the sky. I now know that UFO's are Nazi secret weapons used by the CIA to study little grey men in Arizona and scare off hippies from attending the Glastobury Festival. No, really it was on tv. So it must be true. Why would my television screen lie to me? The camera never lies...