Tragedy struck yesterday in the planning department. In fact, it began to strike when I was down in the Lakes with AG Barr on Wednesday.
Sir Alan, our design guru, received a gift of goldfish a couple of months ago. In gratitude for another brilliant piece of brand identity creation. Having tried to palm them off on his son (who turned his rather fetching nose up at them), he brought them back into the office in the passenger seat of his car a few weeks later.
So they've been living on our coffee table in happy harmony since. Until Wednesday when the thinner of the two fish started flailing around the bowl looking distinctly unhealthy. Sarah ran out on an emergency mission to buy medicine from the pet shop. But I fear she was too late.
I trotted back into the department yesterday morning to find the thin fish doing that telltale belly-up float in the top of the bowl. So we scooped out the thin fish leaving the fat fish to rule the roost.
But he didn't take to it very comfortably and in fact seemed to keep tapping on the side of the bowl in distress, eager for us to go and play with him in the absence of his skinny companion. So gettyimages to the rescue, I found him a picture of some fishy companions and we've placed it behind the bowl to fool him into thinking he still has friends.
Do say hello if you're up here. I don't think the picture's done much to console him.