Poor Sicky Ricky

We have yet another intern in the office. I would say that we've had as many new interns as Ed Miliband has had relaunches but that would be going too far.

Lets, for the sake of his privacy, call this intern Ricky. He is a lovely young chap from America and as they tend to be, he is very eager to please. So eager in fact that he came into work despite having food poisoning. I reminded Ricky that the boss was having a 'day of rest' and wouldn't be in and I wouldn't have given a Bill Wiggins if Ricky had called in sick or not. Looking back on it I really should have sent him home there and then but he seemed so keen. Silly me.

For two hours he sat there researching and groaning quietly. I offered him water and he said no. I offered him tea and he said no again. I offered him a bite of my coronation chicken sandwich and he throws up! My first reaction was to laugh...actually cackle is probably the correct term. I would have followed this with a "you better get some napkins and wipe that up" but he was already out of the room. This being only his second day meant poor Ricky had no idea where the gents were. He told me later that he had been seeking fresh air and not a private location in which to lose his breakfast.

So if anyone saw a young chap in a hoodie throwing up over the side of the terrace into the Thames today and he was accompanied by a bored blonde puffing away on a cigarette, that was us.