Just Another Day in the Office

I blame the police. Ever since that bobby in the Amina Bokhary case fell to the floor like a Premier League footballer who's lost control of the ball in the penalty area, everyone's at it. Falling down, that is – and getting themselves filmed while doing it.

First, there was that guy who claimed he'd been assaulted by Paul Zimmerman, 'though this fellow was definitely not Premier League standard, as he only got his friend to film him writhing around on the ground, missing out the key bit where he was actually felled by walking too close to the Dutchman's slipstream.

Now, we have the magnificently named Chu Hoi Dick (translation for those of you not fluent in Chinese "Pillock from Zhuhai"). Dick, like that irritating little twat Albert Ho and the weaselly Lee Cheuk Yan, is a member of the ever growing breed of Wu Fung wannabes, the professional protester. Indeed, Dick managed to get so far up the Hong Kong Standard's pro-Beijing android "Mary Ma's" nose that it had to lay off the white stuff that enables it to come up with arse-licking gibberish day in and day out. For a day.

So I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that the diving epidemic finally reached my office last week. I was first alerted to the fact that something was amiss by looking out of my internal window and seeing two of the marketing girls bounding off towards the office entrance. Alerted to some mishap or other, I put down my copy of Scenario, the riveting monthly publication of the Hong Kong Council of Social Service, and tuned my ears to sounds which seemed to be emanating from the lift lobby.

Unable to curb my curiosity any longer, I left the interview with Lam Woon Kwong in mid spate, at the point where he said that leaders of genius (I think he was including himself) must not be "bound by deadlines" but should "create flexibilities", and made my way through what I now saw was an empty office to the said lift lobby.

There I saw two male colLEAGUES, as they are called in Hong Kong, lying on the carpet. Well, to be absolutely accurate, one was lying (and moaning) while the other had managed to get up on his haunches, only to fall back into a supine position when he saw me. (He was also moaning.)

"What's happened?" I enquired of Candice, the prettier of the two marketing types.

"They touched each other," she replied, in all seriousness.

"How did it happen?" I asked, warming to the task.

"Ringo was coming from the lift lobby when he was in collision with Dragon," she explained.

At this point, Ringo propped himself on one elbow while vigorously rubbing the other one.

"He touched me," he moaned.

I wasn't sure what to do. They were clearly waiting for the police to come along and draw white lines in chalk around them. But it was also clear that they were looking to me for some sort of arbitration.

"Look. Why don't you go to the clinic for a check-up and maybe next time take a bit more care when you're walking round corners?"

It was at this point that Dragon piped up for the first time. Not only did he pipe up, he also perked up, as, leaping to his feet, he said, 'He was running."

Thus it was that one short phone call to Carmen, Head of Human Resources, later, and everyone in the company received the following email:

Running in the Office

It has come to my attention that an incident of running has caused inconvenience and potential injuries to two colleagues. Staffs are reminded that the Company has in place a Safety Policy with an aim to safeguard the well-being of every colleague. Please be reminded that under no situation is running nor jogging permitted in the office during working hours.

I sometimes think I'm underpaid.