So Campo

The conversation in the office today seemed to be referencing harnesses and ropes, but to my annoyance the place hasn't suddenly gone all S&M on me; they were talking about abseiling. They then went on to base-jumping, bungee-jumping, parachuting, and then - this is where I entered the conversation - why extreme sportsmen aren't very sexy. They always seem to have way too much blond hair, and not enough body fat. For some reason their (for some) beautifully honed bodies always remind me of freshly defrosted chicken breasts. After a spray tan.

I do so like to throw something girly into the middle of a macho conversation. The Girls In Hot Pink Blouses so love me for doing it. And it gives them the start of a conversation, for normally they can be found simply clucking and looking blankly into pages of Heat magazine. Or arranging stationery, strangely hypnotised by the pink fluffy things atop their pens.

Being Friday afternoon everyone's a leeetle bit drunk, and the conversation normally turns to which guy is going to which club looking for some bird with enormous dirty-pillows. And always, without fail, someone accidentally asks me what I'll be doing. And as soon as they do I see everyone hunker down, as if a particularly nasty stink-bomb has been thrown in to the middle of the office, whilst they wait, expecting me to say that I'll be bathing in semen, or playing "Hide the Salami". But I've become bored with seeing their shocked faces, and now it's so much funnier just to say "I can't really tell you, otherwise you'll be berating yourselves all weekend for leading such dull lives". Works every time.

Have a good weekend, y'all.