.. Yes honestly I’m surrounded by women. But regrettably not in a petal laying, grape peeling, brow wiping kind of way. That fantasy remains sadly unfulfilled and it seems rather unfair that’s this situation has only finally unfolded so late in my life. My God, when I was studying for a degree in Computing when we had 4 women, 2 not sure and 1 definitely not in a student population of 250, I’d have happily hacked out a kidney for such an opportunity..

This has come about after a reorganisation (I wanted to say at this point that our team motto is Reorganise now! Create the illusion of progress” but since my boss reads this and cravenly I’m actually in agreement of the latest shuffle, I’ll not. Oops, bit late now) which redistributed bodies in a kind of random Brownian motion except with politics replacing physics and proper cat fights over window space.

I know you’re keen to know how this has affected me. You’re not? Well I’m disappointed “ you should know by now that’s what’s coming. So on the surface, hardly at all, our little enclave occupies a rather sought after corner of the top floor with splendid views of the London Eye (if we crane our necks) and the never ending building works opposite (if we don’t). Somehow we’ve managed to scam a wobby table, a couple of extra chairs and a large whiteboard (another motto; He who fails to clean the board shall suffer painful death by paper shredder“) so it’s no surprise that there are many who covet our comely corner.

However, the musical chairs of the office move has passed us by except to usurp our immediate colleagues and replace them with almost infinite number of the fairer sex. This presents us with a problem. We’ve passed many pleasant hours debating Sven’s midfield formation, the importance of powertools in a non secular society and the most effective root vegetables for farting (sub divided by volume, key changes, octival offset and lumpiness). Almost all of these discussions have been improved by proper swearing and the odd non politically correct comment. Odd as is every other word. This clearly is going to have to change and already I’m suffixing slam down conversations with the helpdesk using the fuck pseudonym poot�?. And rather than referring to an esteemed team member as a brainless dickhead who couldn’t find his arse with an atlas AND a copy of gray’s anatomy�?, we’re reduced to the rather old school Damn His Eyes�?. It lacks a certain something.

It’s a trial I can tell you.

And it get’s worse. Oh I can see you shaking your head and mouthing Poot, Damn His Eyes, he’s nothing more than a Charlatan’s shadow of a gentleman” “ well read on, dear reader, read on.

At one point in the unpacking process, one of this myriad collection of besuited equality warriors exclaimed with some excitement Panic over, I’ve found the Xmas decorations�” Ladies turn your back for a second WHAT THE FUCK?”. Christmas decorations? You may as well garnish the hanging scaffold with a bit of holly. Jesus (point taken), come end of term in December, all we want to do is get drunk, avoid the office, and try oh so hard not to amusingly photocopy our arse in what can only be thought of as a career limiting move.

Pretty soon it’ll be chintz monitor covers and conversational gambits involving potty training, the calorific value of fish paste and below ankle fetishes. Although hopefully not at the same time. The last one scares me the most; straight blokes tend to own three pairs of shoes, a sturdy set of sensible blacks for work, a pair of trainers for 5-a-side football and almost anything else and a pair of sandals “ annually retrieved from the dusty innards of the wardrobe “ for going on Holiday. This seems to be exactly the same amount that most women buy in a week, all of which have been specifically designed for the single purpose of murdering an innocent foot. And even when they talk about Men’s shoes, I’m wandering barefoot in the land of Imelda Marcos. I mean what the hell are brogues” Anybody?

There’s a level of background chatter that may push me over the edge. Remember Michael Douglas in Falling Down”. It’ll be like that only I’ll find a proper use for those Christmas decorations especially the spiky tree.

Through the safety of the Internet Looking Glass, I’ve insulted the Scots, The Welsh, Car Drivers, Fellow Cyclists, Scooter Riders, Folding Bicycle Misfits, Americans, train operatives, trains, train companies, 4x4s and Ken Livingstone. Now my rantings have encompassed the stereotyping of my female colleagues.

But look on the bright side, I’m going to hell anyway, you’ve only been watching.