There's a cracking, deviant niceness to still being in bed at the exact moment you should be turning on your computer at work, mainlining coffee and sneezing out the excesses of the weekend.
An hour and a half late today and I was still the first one in, giving giant yawns out to the open plan banality before the dribbity drab of leftover weekend effluent.
My idyll was spoiled, however, by the overhearing of the following exchange. For handiness' sake I'll reprint the email I sent to Fitzbollix in its wake.
'We're moving office shortly, and some lads have just come in looking around the place.
They asked one of my colleagues...
"Will these televisions be going to the new building?"
"I'm not sure, I'll have to firm up with you on that."
Jesus fucking wept.'
For those of you that take the helicopter view, liaise with each other, run this item and that up the flagpole and get a steer on the latest figures...
...your face, my stick of justice.