Poor, poor Darrell, he woke up thrashing like someone possessed and soaked in a very unromantic cold sweat. It took Nigel and I ages to convince him that just as Bobby Ewing had stepped out of the shower after Pam’s dream in Dallas …… we were all safe and sound and no one was taking our jobs of us… just yet.
But Darrell was still juddery and still not sure, saying that until he had done a “proper” days work at his shredder and no one approached him, or any of us for that matter, with a white DL envelope with our name on, would he be convinced nothing awful was going to befall us.Nigel and I then took the executive decision that indeed getting back to normality was the key to making Darrell feel better and so proffered him breakfast. Darrell, in turn, said that perhaps he might just be able to manage one slice of toast, with a light slathering of Marmite, cut into soldiers with a soft boiled egg on the side and a large mug of tea (two sweeteners) ……. please, what is he like?