Fearful lest I should jinx it, I report that I was informed, "just to be sure I'd know" by three seperate staff members, in varying levels of confidence, that my new office mates were "probably" moving out to the Jam Factory (not as odd as it sounds -- there's a converted Jam Factory down the road which houses shops downstairs and offices upstairs). Unsure of how to react, I made "oh really!" mild surprise noises to all three, hoping they wouldn't compare notes. However, I couldn't help my dimming of surprise, and by the third in-confidence revelation, my surprise probably looked colourless and unconvincing. Dave (new office mate #2) took most of the brunt of Barbara today, though I got drafted in for "I don't understand why it's not typing any more!" wailed at a complex word document. I was hoping that her keyboard was broken (every time I look at it my hygiene alerts go off) but no, she'd somehow selected white as the font colour, ho ho. As every time I tried to talk to Dave, she interrupted and spoke about herself until I shut up, I turned on Niall (my Non-Intelligent Acquired Language Learner) in the hopes that he would appreciate me for what I am. "My big sphinx of a fever," he said, "I ache from this to crumble I feel groggy at my eyes if only they'd tell me no-one here why does everything have to be cheeky."