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An estimated 2-minute read

Hell freezes over

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I often ponder the mundane things of life when I am tired. Tonight, the lucky subject of my musing is the thermostat dial which has inexplicably turned itself all the way down again, making the office unusually cold.

It isn't hard to imagine that this simple dial is a sinister tool of torture the big boss-men (who live up in the sky) employ to control the lowly employee's urge to curl up under the table and catch a few Zs before the sun comes up and the black-suited worker ants stream into work, with their quick gaits and their straight lines.

I look out of the window- I have arrived. The City of London- the great Indian dream that has outlasted the demise of the Raj; the Punjabi munda's ticket to that luscious-lipped (and soon to be generously-hipped) Punjabi kudi; the Bangladeshi caterer's wet dream and the centre of the western financial world.

My corner office on the 37th floor in one of the tallest buildings in the  City offers a good view- occasionally obstructed by the stray passing cloud. I turn from the window to the rest of my office. Piles, indeed mountains of paper dominate the room. My ilk has a way of wasting paper-even my recycle bin overflows with discarded drafts of documents that no one will ever look at unless all hell breaks loose.

I assure myself that the firm does not have a team of people dedicated to watching me work. I then proceed to stare mindlessly at my computer screen for a complete half an hour, while I wonder what useful (possibly higher) alternative purpose I could instead be serving at 4.30 am. Not the first time I come to the conclusion that my chosen path severely limits options in this regard.

Having satisfied myself that I have no other choice, I work tirelessly for the next fifteen minutes. Immensely pleased with the result, I email my boss my work, noting with satisfaction that the time stamp on my email says 05:17. I hope he notices how late I am working and ignores that this could have been finished early yesterday evening (had I not spent hours poring over the latest gossip on Cricinfo).

I leave the office with the air of a hero returning victorious from battle, slipping easily into the black cab I would never take unless it was paid for by someone else.

Of course, I do not turn the thermostat back up. Now THAT would be a complete waste of my £350 an hour time.

I welcome you to my world. The world of Nandii Reywal- Solicitor at Colby, Hewitt and Richards LLP, where today is already another day.

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