holy heck. The company I work for has just been sold to some Belgians. Waxy, take note: perhaps you can aid me in navigating the treacherous waters of international relations with our new Flemish overlords. After talking at us in a Belgian accent (“I feel we haf shynergiesh with you guysh”), they plied us with ham, cheese, Belgian beer and chocolate. And it was good. I have no idea whether our hippie enclave of sloth will change much, but they got off on the right foot anyway.

I rolled home to blunder into second place – again – at poker.