There’s no “i” in team. But there is in officious buzzword using prat.

Working in the service is akin to a journey.  A journey fraught with boredom, apathy and occasionally tragedy.

Huge volumes of calls, paperwork so high that by the time you have cleared it sixteen people have occupied the desk opposite you and then left and you’ve never even met them, information goes missing and the press bandy round accusations of inefficiency and uselessness.

But then there are days when you really wish you hadn’t got out of bed.

Days when every silver cloud is solid black inside and you wish you had died in the night just so you wouldn’t have to suffer the following day.

That’s right.

I ran out of tea bags.