Heavy Words Mean nothing to me, Autumn winds can blow right through me...

It's finally happened.

Our chums in the USA have sent us their latest edict upon workplace ethics, in the form of an elvish Being named Barbara.

Barbara is a Management Consultant. She stands four-feet nothing in her heels, and has a voice like a cracked whip. Actually she is quite jolly, although she isn't here to trade niceties with her new colleagues in the Old Country (for that is what we are to them).

She is here to propound the latest theory of how to avoid harassment in the workplace. Or, more exactly, how to harass your underlings without them feeling they'll see you in court before getting you a coffee with the rest of your team.

I met Barbara this morning. All Tweed and Charlie, (the perfume, that is) and I conducted her on a fragrant tour of our team area.

Her first comment was - 'How many women work in this team then?".

"MANTRAP" something screams inside me. "KILL THE DWARF" also surfaces, but is quickly beaten down to my subconscious level with a large moral iron bar.

"Er...none at present" is the only sentence that actually make it out of my clenched jaws.

"I should think that's something to do with the Pirelli Calendar on the wall." She smiles, sharklike, waiting hungrily for my discomfort to manifest itself.

"Actually..." I begin smugly, "that was given to us by the HelpDesk girls last Xmas".

"Are they dykes then?" she offers the hook, line and float to my sense of humour.

Its too much for my humour to not take the bait.

"Well, they've had a lot of fingers stuck in them". Winning smile, rueful shrug of the shoulders, wink for imaginary camera.

"See you in the training room at 10am then".

Someone sprays me with crushed ice.

Oh sh*t.

I bet I'm going to be bad example number one all morning.

I'll never make US President now. Sorry Monica.

PS: I've already sent off my order for next year's calendar - 'Buffy, Uncut'.