PTFPDPOSCWTATAFTD

This is not a post about John Peel.

Occasionally you don't know somebody for that long, but you make a kind of connection and then miss them enormously when you have to part. I hate goodbyes.

It's been a strange kind of week.

If we're going to meet again, we'll meet again. If we're not, we're not. Either way it can't really compare to the kind of disappointment I had at work today. Let me paint a picture.

One of the most entertaining things we do at work from time to time is the "Put The Fake Plastic Dog Poo On Someone's Chair Whilst They Are Temporarily Away From Their Desk" game. Or PTFPDPOSCWTATAFTD as those of us in the know call it. We played today but it didn't go as planned.

Imagine, for the sake of anonymity, there's a girl called Buffy. It's not her real name, or even a name she's ever used. But in an ideal world, all girls would be called Buffy. I left the Fake Plastic Poo on Buffy's chair whilst she had gone to get drinks, and pushed the chair under the desk, poo out of sight. Normally what happens is that person gets back, sees the poo, goes "Urgghh!" or "Arghh!" and we all crack up. It's hilarious.

What happened today was that Buffy came back with drinks, sat down on the poo on the chair, didn't notice anything awry, and carried on with work. It was wrong! Next time she left the desk I recovered the poo and replaced it back into my drawer. It did give us some amusement that she hadn't noticed, but not as much as if she had. But it at least means that we can play PTFPDPOSCWTATAFTD again another day.

A dog may be just for Christmas, but the fun of a plastic poo is eternal.