Hiring more men in the office

Every six months it seems that I have to oversee (from some safe distance I should stress) the appointment of another gorgeously talented wag-type to my beautiful company.

Looking around at my pink wallpaper and fresh Paula Pryke flower arrangements, I suddenly realised that perhaps the office was looking a bit too girly, and that I should be hiring more men. I would hate for anyone to think I descriminated against the weaker species! (they are a bit dumb though aren't they dear reader?!)

I was curious, and frankly, dear reader, a triffle bored this afternoon, so I decided to drop in on one of the interviews for a new office runner person thingie.

Helena, my head of production, was managing the quick fire one-minute interviews with aplomb, fending off any complaints from "poor northerners" who had had to pay £68.70 trainfares, whilst grilling them intensely about why having a first-class degree in Cultural Studies made them any good at brewing a nice pot of green echenacia-enhanced tea for our Tuesday afternoon brainstorms.

One "lad" got my attention though. Named Iain (with an 'I'). He looked a bit like a younger version of Colin Firth. He wore a cream shirt and a pair of thigh-tight drainpipe jeans. He spoke with a strange accent, but it was charmingly northern.

I jumped in during the final 20 seconds of his 'audience with us' (as we like to call it) and asked him what his most embarrassing moment was. To his credit, the poor lad didn't miss a beat, and muttered something about some foam party stunt during his final year at "uni" (ugh!!!!). But at least he said it with grace and a cheeky smile.

As the exhausted Helena stretched back and asked someone to pop out to the off licence and pick us up a nice chilled bottle of Viognier (it was already gone past 5pm), I said: "Hire Iain. I like him."

Job done.

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