Steve.

Many moons ago, when I worked for a civil service department which shall be nameless for fear of heaping embarrassment upon my head, I had a colleague called Steve. He was harmless enough, even quite likeable in a way, but he wasn’t the sort whose company people went out of their way to seek. Most of what he said was either blatantly obvious or a bit dull. He had a wife called Jenny, and Jenny was his favourite topic of conversation. Poor old Steve. Poor old us.

On one occasion he brought one of Jenny’s cakes into the office. It was a lurid sort of thing – coloured bright green and red, if I remember correctly. I commented on the startling appearance and he flew into a huff – turned and walked away without giving me a piece.

He sometimes played for the office cricket team. During the course of one match, an opposition batsman hit a high ball into the outfield. Steve and I both moved in for the catch, but he was in the better position so I pulled back to let him take it. He got underneath the ball and waited. Just as it was about to reach him, he stepped aside and let the ball fall to the ground. Then he picked it up and returned it to the bowler.

‘Steve, you’re supposed to catch the bloody thing!’

He walked away from me without a word. Everyone else shrugged. I was surprised we didn’t have to delay the game while the batsman stopped laughing.

And then, one Monday morning, he walked into my office and went to the window. He stood there for some time, looking deeply pensive. I was eventually moved to ask him whether he was OK.

‘Yes, fine,’ he said. ‘Jenny really enjoyed the weekend.’

I thought I was about to witness an unprecedented event. Steve was going to tell me something interesting.

‘Oh, yes?’ I said, genuinely enthused. ‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing, but Jenny really enjoyed the weekend.’

Back to work.

Oh, and by the way - Greetings Mexico! (Latest new visitor.)