Too Few or Too Many?


Bickers saunters into the office, all casual like. He sprays his hands with disinfectant, pops his tablet out and starts to type.He’s a freelance we use sometimes, total nerd, fanatic on certain topics. He’s got OCD. He hates the expression, if you say “OCD” to him he responds with “Obsessive Compulsive Disorder”, he repeats it five times. Five times exactly. He smells of record shops and smoke.


“Bickers. I thought he told you not to come in today?”

“Did he? I can’t recall.”

“We both know why.”

“Didn’t see your Father Dead post yet.”

“It’s late.”

“He won’t like that.”

“He doesn’t like it.”

“How late?”

“Probably Monday.”

“Oh dear. Where is he?” Sneering. Bickers the bollocks.

“Gone to The Oval. Says he found Sarah. He’s obsessed with that bar since last week.”

“So, no post today then. Maybe I can help?”

“No. Don’t do it. He’ll hit the roof.”

“Do what?”

“You know. There’s bad blood. Ever since Iman dumped him for….”

He’s typing away again.

“There you go. Gotta run. Love you!”

“Oh Christ.”


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