Following the unfortunate incident in the toilet, there’s now a two-inch divot running down the middle of my forehead. Thankfully, the skin has not been ruptured, but the indenture is of sufficient depth to cause both pain and embarrassment.
Of course, the fact I have a relief-map of the Mariana Trench on my noggin is not wasted on my colleagues.
‘Morning, Mr Merrick,’ says the comedian on reception, as I walk into the building.
I try to scowl but it hurts, so I don’t. ‘I’m fine, Terry. Thanks for asking.’
‘No you’re not. You’re head looks like a baby’s arse.’