MICRO-BREWERY

There's a sweetness to the light today - just that sort of once-a-year thing when the angle of the sun is just right, and the clement weather and that post-bank-holiday-weekend-feel-good-factor combine to light the office in a sort of ethereal, bright, morning hope. Probably.

It's also because by sheer coincidence, all the managers have gone on an off-site jolly and are not here. As I'm sure you know, managers generate meetings like mass generates gravity, so when they're off at some hotel or other, having the heaviest meeting of meetings and bouncing their planet-sized egos around, it means the rest of us are deliciously meeting-free, unshackled from the constraints of the conference room, the dim projector, the drawn blinds, and the exhausting dynamics.

What a perfect time then, to start your own micro-brewery at your desk.

"You can do whatever you like," said someone, "As long as we don't have to call the police."

Brilliant.

I'm going to point out then, that the whole thing was an accident. I didn't mean to do it. I was sitting here, minding my own business in fact, when it happened.

Something popped. Loudly, like a balloon, or a champagne cork, but deafening, and right next to my ear. It was enough to stop the office. The usual sound of tapping keyboards dropped to a deathly silence.

"What was that?" asked a colleague.

"I have no... idea," I said, checking to see whether a computer had blown up. There was no smoke - always a good sign, and no flaming wreckage. I was alright, just surrounded by a sea of peering faces. Had there been any managers here, those faces would have been joined of course, by what we can only describe as 'helpful suggestions'.

It reminded me of one time when an alarm was going off. Offices are highly susceptible to the annoyance of uncancelled alarms, chiming phones or repetitive ringtones. Whenever something beeps, there is a grand inquisition, followed by a swift, muttering, group-castigation of the offender.

"It's definitely not me!" I protested that time, while the alarm was still resounding. I had my new phone on my desk, on silent. It couldn't be anything to do with me and I was adamant.

Hilarity (of sorts) ensued moments later, when Tim wandered around cocking his ear to find the source of his irritation, and I suddenly realised that it was my old phone (the one I had 'lost' in London), in my bag, under my desk.

This time, after today's loud popping sound, I was wary, and less inclined to disavow all knowledge of it - just in case.

However, today, I did quickly become aware of the brew bubbling up and out of my blender cup, where today's smoothie was slowly turning into alcohol. The lid had popped off like a jack-in-the-box.

"Er. What was in that thing?"

"Oh, um, plum, raspberry, apple, kale, blueberries, matcha, banana, pear," I said, reeling off the list from yesterday's chopping board while holding it up like a chemical experiment.

Well, whatever combo it was, it was fizzing like acid, and I had to take it to the kitchen to prevent it from bubbling over my desk and eating its way through the wood.

My next problem was disposing of the fruity mulch. You can't pour thick chunky gloop down the drain, so I decided to decant it into a paper cup and then put the whole lot in the bin.

Easier said than done. I held it upside down over the cup and waited. The bottom was still fizzing, but the top, a viscous mass of glump, stayed stuck. I shook it. Nothing happened. So I tapped it.

Still nothing.

So I hit it again.

All at once, the fermenting mass of fruit burst out into the cup, knocked it over and plopped everywhere, and in all directions.

I don't know why these things happen to me.

I cleared that up with kitchen roll, wiped down my glasses, rinsed out the empty blender cup, and washed my hands. Then I found an old Krispy Kreme plastic bag in a cupboard, tightly wrapped the paper cup in the plastic and slipped the whole lot into the bin, as planned.

"Tightly wrapped?" asked someone, when I recounted the tale. "Do you not think you should maybe have popped a couple of air holes in the bag?"

I sighed.

Yeah maybe.

Still, the light is nice today, and the sun is at just the right angle. Right?