Sugar rush

A new Starbucks opened today, right under our office, and the generous peeps inside were giving away free, well, anythings. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I trotted down for a chocolate frappucino and a mini muffin.

Half an hour later I felt a little bit sick and giggly, perhaps because I'd consumed half a cow and a month's ration of sugar. This explains the surreal nature of my own behaviour for the rest of the day, but I'm not sure what to attribute everyone else's to.

In between swapping favourite words with Tim via email (for example: gnu, elk, sponge, bung and dink), I managed to convince the rest of the team that we ought to set up a website advertising us as a group, because between us we've pretty much got the whole creative process covered. As editorial teams go, we ain't half bad.

Emma came up with the clever name Phoenix for us, as we do seem to rise from the ashes on a regular basis, but I think I prefer Graham's suggestion: Bucket of Fuckers.

Dean ran out of oxygen halfway through a sentence and pretended to be dead for 10 minutes, reviving to defend himself against the accusation that he once twisted Tim's nipple until it turned black. He claims Tim did the same to him, but we think that's cheating because it already was black.

Emma cast blame in my direction when she couldn't hear a word Graham was saying and he complained she suffers from sound blindness. She said it was my fault because I suck up everything they say before it reaches the other person's ear - I am a word hoover.

Then someone walked past my desk pushing a cupboard.

See why I'm going to miss these guys?

On a side note, anyone in Brit-land who hasn't been watching Britain's Got Talent really needs to tune in tonight - click here to see why.