Video conferencing has been suspended.   When we all (finally) got back on line, there was such a surge in demand that the entire system crashed.

“We might as well just give up and go back to charcoal and slate!” Malcolm is still on a technology downer. “All this expensive IT equipment is causing more problems than it solves.”

“Fine by me,” Danielle agrees.  “I wouldn’t ‘ave all this bloody dictation to do.”

“Ah, but you would,” he smiles, “You would just have to do it the old fashioned way.”

“And what’s that then?”

“You would have to take short hand, in Jane’s office.  Imagine that?”

She does.  Her eyes widen in horror.  “I take it back,” she agrees. “Technology is marvellous. Long live digital dictation!”

Still, the lack of technological support is note deterring our new Euro-colleague.

“Can you tell me where I will find the books on conflict of laws in the library?” she asks me.

“Er,” no idea, “try the third shelf on the fourth row on the right hand side.”

“And what about the EU Directives?”

Same answer. “Fifth shelf, third aisle.”

“Conventions?”

Arrrggh!  “Ask the Librarian.”

She strides off to search in my invented locations; passing Jane as she leaves.

“What’s she up to?” she asks me.

“God knows,” I sigh, “I’m just glad to have a bit of quiet.”

Since she moved in, a fortnight ago, I have barely had a moment’s peace.  If she’s not issuing commands to the support staff she’s shouting down the phone at her boyfriend.  And, as if that were not bad enough, she has decorated the office with sparkly stick-on stars and pictures of cats.

“Doesn’t she know what The Boss does to kittens?” she smirks.

Clearly not.

“Ah, give her a break,” Liz coos, “I think it’s nice that she’s personalised her work space.”

“If she hadn’t personalised mine too,” I point out.

“I think it’s sweet,” Jane sniggers, “After all, you are such a fluffy, kitten-y kind of girl.”

“No I am not!” I protest. “I am a tough talking, no-nonsense litigator.”

They laugh at the idiocy of this.

“I think we should all bring in pictures of our pets,”  Alex chuckles

“Yes,” I sniff. “Jane could bring her praying mantis.”

“I don’t do insects,” she points out. “If I had a pet I would have a llama.”

“A llama?”

“Multi-purpose: I could ride it to work, make clothes out of it and it would spit at people I didn’t like.”

Alex rolls his eyes in quiet despair. “What sort of pet would you have, Helen?”

“A hamster,” I reason. “Up every night exhausting itself on a never ending treadmill; we would have a lot in common.”

We all would.

“What about you, Liz?”

“I would have a rugby player,” she laughs.

“Me too,” Alex agrees, “But I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with Dan…….”

“And he isn’t house trained,” Jane adds.

“That’s not very nice.”

“No,” she sighs, “it isn’t; not when you have to share a room with him….”

Liz pulls a face.  Caught between wanting to laugh but feeling she must protest.  Her “friendship” with Dan, is still too embarrassing to admit.  Jane finds this hilarious and teases her at every opportunity.  But today she is more interested in Celine.

“Has The Boss owned up about his lack of international clients?” she asks.

“Don’t be stupid” I laugh. “He fobbed her off with those awful trust cases; asked her to sort out Mrs DeLacy’s pension claim and told her to set up a new,”Euro Initiative”.

“Will that be like the Employment Initiative?”

“No, it will only involve Celine and anyone she can persuade to join her.”

“Oh thank god for that, I couldn’t cope with another seminar.”

Me neither.   I’m still in therapy from the last one.

That being the case, the only person keen enough to volunteer for extra work is, of course, Tarquin.

“I think I can lend some valuable guidance to this project,” he tells Celine.

“Oh?”  Her eyes narrow.

“Yes,” he nods, “I am fully paid up Euro-phile. Very much in favour of further European co-operation.”

I wince for him.

“Ok,” Celine nods. ”Then you may assist me.”

“Assist?”

Ooooh hoo hoo!

“Yes, you can help to compile a list of potential targets.”

“Targets?”

She looks at him as if he is simple.

“TARGETS,” she mouths.

“I know what they are.”

“Good, then I would be happy if you could let me have it by Friday.”

“Er no!  I think you may have misunderstood me.  I am not planning to assist you.  I am planning to guide you.”

“I do not need guidance!”  Her eyes blaze.  “I need assistance!  So, please let me have the list by Friday.”

And, in a puff of smoke, she is gone.

Tarquin is bristling with indignation and looks to me for sympathy.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes.”

“Who  does she think she is, telling me to assist her?”

“She is the future Tar.”

“What?!”

“She is European Union.”

“Pah!” he snorts.

“I thought you were a Euro-phile?” I parody.

“I am.”  So long as it doesn’t interfere with his right to be in charge.

“Then you must allow Celine to take control.  It is what she has been hired to do.”

“Never!” Not as long as Britannia still rules the waves.

Realising he is getting no where with me, he stalks off to seek out more sympathetic ears with the department Euro-sceptic: Malcolm; known hater of “foreign food” (pasta) and footballers whose names he can’t pronounce.

I relay the conversation to the others.  They all agree that it doesn’t bode well for European integration.

“It will be like Waterloo all over again,” Jane laughs.

Only more bloody.

“Why on earth does Tarkers want to get involved with another, marketing initiative, anyway?” Liz asks. “Can’t he just let her get on with it?”

This is such a stupid question none of us bother to answer it.

“I think the point is: why is The Boss suddenly so interested in international expansion?”

“Is there no end to his ambition?”  Jane wonders. “First he takes on new disciplines and now new countries?”

Like a true James Bond villain.

“He has been reading about Russian commodities Billionaires,” Alex tells us. ”He thinks he can get a slice of the pie.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the Corporate Team has one as a client; he reckons we can get in on the act.”

“But what about the Russian mafia?” Liz gasps.

“He has Jane to deal with them.”

“Oh yes,” she laughs, “They will be no match for her.”

“And look on the bright side,” she smirks. “If the plan works, Tarquin might get seconded to Siberia.”