I dropped a bottle of morphine at work today. Obviously if I'd hurt myself by dropping it on my foot, I could have licked it up and killed two birds with one stone, but unfortunately I missed and it landed on the floor. On the plus side, they only cost 89p, so I still have a job. Frankly I'd have been in bigger financial trouble if I'd knocked over the pharmacy flapjacks. But as I mopped it all up with paper towels and considered sending an e-mail to the government instructing them to raise taxes to pay for the damage, I couldn't help being struck by just how nice it smells. No wonder the stuff's addictive. I haven't been so attracted to an aroma since I started sniffing the pharmacy marker pens.

I'm not sure if it was a result of the ensuing hallucinations, but I turned on the NHS intranet shortly afterwards, and saw this announcement...


Unfortunately, being high on morphine fumes, I read the words "New Staff For Sale" and spent a good five minutes thinking they'd brought back slavery. And as for the Wanted Notice Board, that just sounded like something out of the Wild West.

Anyhoo, tomorrow's my birthday, and to celebrate, my employers are hiring someone new to work for with me. Interest in the role has naturally been overwhelming, and a total of eighteen candidates have been short-listed for interview. One of whom has already pulled out. I expect he Googled the job title and arrived at my blog.

But flash floods permitting, the other seventeen will be paraded before me at half hour intervals over the next two days. I'll be telling them about the job, marking them out of ten and choosing my favourite. I haven't been asked to, but I'm sure no one will mind. The successful candidate will be informed on Thursday, then it's just down to the HR department to sort out the paperwork, put them on the payroll, and give them a starting date. So I'll expect them around October.

In the meantime, I've just finished creating a web-page about Cary Grant. There's a sentence I never thought I'd write.