The Grey Man

'Have you had any visitors for me?'

A white man with medium build about 5 foot 7 with grey hair in a grey suit with a white shirt is standing on the other side of the desk. He is probably in his late forties or early fifties. About 80 percent of the company's employees match this description. He is not specifically familiar. The odour of Marlborough Reds and sour laundry wafts across the desk and straight up my nose. I'll remember him now.

'I'm sorry sir, but what's your name?'

He clears his throat in irritation and rifles in his pockets for a business card. He passes it across the desk with a flourish.

'I'm Terry Huffington. I have a meeting room booked here today!'

He starts to scuffle and jerk gently at the other side of the desk - like a chicken scratching for a worm.

I scan the calendars looking for his name and when it doesn't appear I start reading out the names that do appear:

'Room 1 - Vaguely Inappropriate One-to-one - that started at 9 am and is booked through to lunchtime...don't think that's it?

Room 2 - Unfeasibly Overbudget Project Catchup from eleven until one...

Room 3 - Appraisals - all day

Room 4 - Sally Crispmuncher - 10 people - half nine until two...'

He blinks his watery pink eyes. 'That's it. Sally's my PA.'

'My apologies for not spotting it, perhaps Sally could make the booking in your name to avoid confusion next time?'

He ignores me 'Where's room 4?'

'On the first floor.'

'And how do I get there? Honestly, I don't have time for this!'

I smile serenely and walk him to the lift to scan him up.

'Which floor is it again?' He wipes his face with a grubby handkerchief and stares at the lift doors with determination.

As the door opens I press the button for the first floor and walk back to the desk.

Arse!