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James Bond

I was working in an office doing quite a dull job, surrounded by men and women a lot older than me. I was the office junior and token young person. Most of my colleagues were nice, apart from one woman in the next department. She was OK but to my 18-year-old self, she was just so so boring. Her name was Maureen, and whenever she had the chance she used to corner me and talk to me about her daughters, and her allotment and jam-making, and lots of things I had no absolutely no interest in at all, I would always try to make excuses not to talk to her.

One day a new girl started temping in the next department, the same age as me, and really attractive too, apparently she was working for the summer while she was home from university.
Now usually I am a very timid and awkward man, but on this day I saw her on her own at lunchtime in the canteen and decided to go over and sit next to her. I don't know what came over me, maybe it was because the only person I'd had to talk to of my o…

The Cupboard of Doom.

The cupboard of doom. I know what you're thinking, it sounds like a really disappointing Harry Potter story. But is not. 
It's actually the place I most fear in our flat. 
Although perhaps fear is too strong a word. Annoyed by. Irked. Irritated by.  It's like that thing you forget exists, and then you remember and it really irritates you all over again.  It's bloody Piers Morgan. Some people don't like their spooky attic or cobweb filed loft, for me it's the narrow cupboard just to the right of the cupboard under the sink. That's where the food containers and plastic boxes live, and the leftover containers from the Chinese takeaway, waiting patiently for me to open the cupboard door so they can all jump out at me, like a toppling Tupperware tower of terror. It happens every time. I forget until the very moment the door swings open, but then it's already too late, a plastic tsunami engulfs my feet, and I have to spend the next five minutes trying to match up the…

Adopted