Beyond the Brochure: Another fine mess

I can’t help feeling a bit tetchy when the children hang around my desk. They
climb onto my chair and spin like they’re on a Nasa training program,
sending coffee cups and amazingly important bits of paper flying across the
room. They open mysterious applications on my computer — and when the
computer is crashed, and everything is lying in a coffee-sodden heap on the
floor, one of them picks up a stapler. Or some-times it’s a highlighter pen,
or a shiny hairgrip. And they say: “When you die, can I have this?”