Ray Sullivan Author: WH Smiths

Showing posts with label WH Smiths. Show all posts

Sunday, 4 November 2012

Apple Apologises - Eventually

It can't have missed your notice that Apple and Samsung have been falling out with each other recently. I blogged a week or so ago about the various court cases they have had (and I understand one or a thousand others may have mentioned it too).

the upshot is that the Korean courts think both companies are pretty much as bad as each other for copying ideas, the US courts (including 12 American jurors) thought that the American company Apple was great and wronged by the non-American company Samsung, awarding costs of $1 billion. The UK courts agreed that Apple was cooler than Samsung, but that was all. They ruled that Apple had been bad-mouthing their competitor and insisted that Apple place the following statement on their UK website and post it in a number of UK newspapers.

On 9th July 2012 the High Court of Justice of England and Wales ruled that Samsung Electronic (UK) Limited's Galaxy Tablet Computer, namely the Galaxy Tab 10.1, Tab 8.9 and Tab 7.7 do not infringe Apple's registered design No. 0000181607-0001. A copy of the full judgment of the High court is available on the following link www.bailii.org/ew/cases/EWHC/Patents/2012/1882.html. That Judgment has effect throughout the European Union and was upheld by the Court of Appeal on 18 October 2012. A copy of the Court of Appeal's judgment is available on the following link www.bailii.org/ew/cases/EWCA/Civ/2012/1339.html. There is no injunction in respect of the registered design in force anywhere in Europe.

Apple appealed the decision but was over-ruled. However they posted a modified version of the ruling that went like this:

Samsung / Apple UK judgment

On 9th July 2012 the High Court of Justice of England and Wales ruled that Samsung Electronic (UK) Limited's Galaxy Tablet Computer, namely the Galaxy Tab 10.1, Tab 8.9 and Tab 7.7 do not infringe Apple's registered design No. 0000181607-0001. A copy of the full judgment of the High court is available on the following linkwww.bailii.org/ew/cases/EWHC/Patents/2012/1882.html.

In the ruling, the judge made several important points comparing the designs of the Apple and Samsung products:

"The extreme simplicity of the Apple design is striking. Overall it has undecorated flat surfaces with a plate of glass on the front all the way out to a very thin rim and a blank back. There is a crisp edge around the rim and a combination of curves, both at the corners and the sides. The design looks like an object the informed user would want to pick up and hold. It is an understated, smooth and simple product. It is a cool design."

"The informed user's overall impression of each of the Samsung Galaxy Tablets is the following. From the front they belong to the family which includes the Apple design; but the Samsung products are very thin, almost insubstantial members of that family with unusual details on the back. They do not have the same understated and extreme simplicity which is possessed by the Apple design. They are not as cool."

That Judgment has effect throughout the European Union and was upheld by the Court of Appeal on 18 October 2012. A copy of the Court of Appeal’s judgment is available on the following link www.bailii.org/ew/cases/EWCA/Civ/2012/1339.html. There is no injunction in respect of the registered design in force anywhere in Europe.

However, in a case tried in Germany regarding the same patent, the court found that Samsung engaged in unfair competition by copying the iPad design. A U.S. jury also found Samsung guilty of infringing on Apple's design and utility patents, awarding over one billion U.S. dollars in damages to Apple Inc. So while the U.K. court did not find Samsung guilty of infringement, other courts have recognized that in the course of creating its Galaxy tablet, Samsung willfully copied Apple's far more popular iPad.

The UK courts, understandably, had a dicky fit over this statement, which effectively appears to attempt to divert the reader away from the judgement. It probably implies that the UK courts were wrong, seeing as other courts appear to have differed in opinion. Given that Apple started the whole issue by bringing Samsung to a UK court they felt that Apple hadn't been listening to them, so the courts hauled the Apple lawyers back in and gave them a fair old dressing down. Consequently the original statement, as directed by the UK courts, has now replaced the modified statement.

Is this just a semantic spat? Will it convert people who may have been swayed by the court case and any statements made before or during to consider Samsung devices? I doubt it; in fact, most of us just watch these arguments going on out of curiosity and then buy whatever we were going to buy anyway. I live in a household where Apple and Android devices (admittedly not Samsung badged, but possibly manufactured) live harmoniously side-by-side and I'm sure I'm not the only one. The only real opinion the user will have is that the net effect of all the court actions and punitive fines is going to be passed on to us eventually, and we'll still buy the device we fancy. Even if it is an uncool Samsung device.

But the real problem for Apple is that Samsung are probably going to go back to the US courts and make the not unreasonable challenge to their $1 billion charge. They will probably argue that as Apple had recourse to one more layer of judiciary in the UK, the UK Supreme Court, but clearly chose to place the retraction on their website and in several newspapers instead, it demonstrates that they did not believe they had an absolutely correct argument regarding infringements. That action alone should compel the US courts to reconsider their previous judgement. Hopefully both companies will be told to go away, stop wasting court time and the consumer might find that the next generation of Apple and Samsung devices are a little bit more affordable than they might have been.

Here's hoping.

--------------------------------------------------------------

I can be followed on Twitter too - @RayASullivan
or on Facebook - use raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com to find me

Why not take a look at my books and read up on my Biog here

Want to see what B L O'Feld is up to? Take a look at his website here

Worried/Interested in the secretive world of DLFs? Take a look at this website dedicated to DLFs here, if you dare!

Sunday, 13 May 2012

Project: Evil - The Christmas Party part 3

‘I’m off to shoot the runner up on the Elimination Karaoke, shoot the DJ once he’s finished playing all my requests, shoot the tribute band once they’ve finished their set and shoot the airship captain once he’s finished his drinking.

‘That’s unreasonable,’ said Daw, checking the company position on shooting contractors, but finding that it was actually considered reasonable, even mandatory. ‘By all accounts he’ll have dropped us off and be halfway home before he stops drinking.’ O’Feld shrugged, at least it freed up his diary a little.

A distraught looking engineer joined them, his shirt open at the neck, his tie trailing low on his shirt, a pencil lodged firmly behind his ear.

‘They’ve added a four by two metre stainless steel table inside the rocket,’ he said. Brian shrugged as best he could in a bullet proof tuxedo.

‘Sorry about that, the workshop manager fitted it to facilitate site meetings before NoDangerStyleUK fitted the windows. Then he found he couldn’t get it out, something about the windows having an anti-jumping restraint on the hinges,’ he said. The engineer turned purple and started waving sheaves of paper showing complicated calculations on it.

‘This is a four stage rocket with motors designed for three, carrying four henchpersons and fifty thousand armadillo droppings instead of a box of experimental mice. And now you introduce an additional stainless steel table four hours before we ship to the South Seas. Have you any idea what this does to my calculations?’ he asked. Brian scanned the calculations carefully.

‘So, you need to get another pot of beige paint?’ he said, handing the engineer the paper bundle back.

‘What do you think? We can't let an unpainted stainless steel table blast off into space. To cap it all, B & Q are shut until the morning,’ ranted the engineer, storming back to the party.

‘Will engineer blood do as a substitute?’ asked O’Feld.

Two hours later found the senior team sat amid a pile of slaughtered henchmen. Not drunk, just slaughtered. Daw sighed, he had less than an hour to recruit, train and deploy fifty replacements, it was past midnight and he was pissed; but it was the raffle prize to thank for that. It was O’Feld’s raffle prize to thank for the slaughtered henchmen, actually, as well. As Christmas parties went, it was a pretty good result. O’Feld blew the smoke emanating from the barrel of the machine gun he’d won in the raffle, looking really pleased.

‘Right,’ he said, looking at his watch, ‘what’s the order of play?’ Brian looked at the list he’d prepared, then at the machine gun. He hoped O’Feld still had some bullets left, he’d rather hoped that O’Feld would have waited for the Secret Santa, which of course was why he’d arranged for it to be first prize. He looked around the group. Froshdu was still there, not because of the Secret Santa – he’d only be interested in that if the fat fella in the red suit was being spit roasted and served in pitta bread. He was still there because he’d found the stash of food Brian had hidden, the food the Head of Catering had supplied. The Head of Catering was also there, eying the parcel in front of him cautiously, and reasonably given that he’d found out that Brian had supplied it. O’Feld was there, of course, impatiently fiddling with the paper wrapping provided by the EVIL Officer and Daw sat next to him, nervously. Daw was always nervous when he was sat next to O’Feld and O’Feld was opening a parcel – if it didn’t explode, then usually O’Feld did. Finally, his face a picture of enthusiasm, sat the EVIL Officer. Daw decided to open his parcel first.

‘Oh, it’s a dice,’ he said, holding the cube up.

‘Strictly, a die,’ corrected O’Feld. ‘I thought that was appropriate,’ he gloated. Daw examined the die, read the six faces in turn.

‘Kill, Maim, Kill, Maim, Kill, Maim and Kill,’ he read. ‘I really could have done with this last week when recruiting for the Charity Liaison Officer post, bloody do-gooders,’ he said, slipping the die into his pocket. Froshdu picked his parcel up and ate it without removing the wrapping. Daw’s jaw dropped; when he’d bought the leather shoes he really thought Froshdu would like them. On his feet, not in his stomach.

‘A bit chewy,’ grumbled Froshdu, burping, ‘but very tasty. Loafers?’ he asked. Daw nodded, it had seemed an appropriate name for a present for Froshdu. The EVIL Officer opened his parcel gingerly, trying to work out who had bought it for him. So was Brian.

‘A kilo of raw beef?’ he said as he held the dripping meat in front of him. ‘I don’t eat raw meat,’ he said, looking suddenly at the Head of Catering. Before he could react, Froshdu grabbed the meat and tucked in.

‘That’s what I was hoping,’ he said, biting off a sizable chunk. Brian did a quick head count and realised that he and the Head of Catering had bought each other presents. Both men set their parcels aside, both hoping theirs wasn’t on a time switch.

‘Can I open mine now?’ asked an excited O’Feld.

‘Sure,’ answered Brian, adding, ‘would you like me to hold your machine gun for you?’ O’Feld pulled at the wrapping paper excitedly while Brian ensured there was a fresh round in the breach. He’d taken the liberty of writing the EVIL Officer’s name on the bullet. He really hoped the prat had taken his advice, and when O’Feld held the book up, he knew he had.

‘The wisdom of Doktor Negatif?’ asked O’Feld, turning the book around and reaching for the machine gun. The EVIL Officer obviously hadn’t picked up on O’Feld’s anger as he nodded enthusiastically.

‘Look inside,’ he said, reaching over. O’Feld glowered as the man pulled the book open, revealing two hundred and twenty blank pages save for the first page, which had a signature in it.

‘No wisdom, and I even got him to sign it,’ said the EVIL Officer, leaning back. O’Feld roared at the joke.

‘Brian, put that in the library in the secret island lair,’ he said, passing the book to Brian.

‘Library? What library?’ he asked, only to be greeted with the look he’d expected the EVIL Officer to have received. There was only one room that he could convert at short notice to a library. It looked like he was joining the other managers in podworld.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The characters, companies and places referred to in Project: Evil are fictitious and any resemblance to people, companies, businesses or places is entirely coincidental

If you've enjoyed this chapter of Project: Evil then check out the blog every Sunday, Wednesday and Friday as the story unfolds and, if you haven't done so already, why not follow the blog.

If you know someone who has a warped sense of humour please pass them the link to my blog so that they can enjoy 'Project: Evil'.

I can be followed on Twitter too - @RayASullivan or on Facebook - use raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com to find me

To find out more about my ancestors visit my sister’s website http://sullivanfamilyhistory.angelfire.com/

Visit my books on Amazon (for Kindle owners) and Smashwords (for access to all other formats and access to Apple iBooks, Barnes and Noble, Sony, WH Smith, Kobo and many other good ebookstores.

Digital Life Form is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $8 (or for £5 plus P&P in the UK for UK readers - contact me on raysullivan.novels@yahoo.com for details)
The Last Simple is available on Amazon.com in paperback for $6.

The Journeymen is available for $9

For quick access to the various Kindle, Kobo, WH Smith and Smashword links please use the table below to view my books

To View My books In....

Saturday, 12 May 2012

The Last Post - For Now

Over a year ago I started blogging - it was a voyage of discovery as I hadn't really looked at blogs myself up until that point and I freely admitted that I didn't understand the attraction. Look back on my blog list to 'The Inaugural Blog' if you need reminding. My rationale was that all the advice to self publishers at that time was that you needed to maintain a public presence using blogs and social media to let people know about your books. BTW, I didn't understand the social media bit either.

So I created this blog and initially posted intermittently. Then, over a meal in the Lake District while on holiday with my wife last September, while regaling gags I'd made in the 'Da Dan Brown Code' that I'd been playing with for a few years, on and off, I decided I'd publish it on the blog over a period of months. This was probably a brave (for that, read foolish) idea as I hadn't actually completed the story at that time. However I started posting 'Da Dan Brown Code' twice a week initially and for some, unexplained reason I haven't worked out to date, I determined to blog daily seven days a week. I guess it seemed a good idea at the time.

Anyhow, I finished 'Da Dan Brown Code', now published and available for free through Smashwords, Apple, Kobo, WH Smith and other good eBook storees (but $0.99 on Amazon for technical reasons that provide you with a way to recompense me, should you ever feel the need, and embarked on serialising another comedic book I'd started some time ago, Project: Evil. Now that book is twice the length it was when I started blogging it and it is almost finished. Which strictly means it isn't finished.

I've also noticed that the daily blogging is putting a strain on my writing. Project: Evil isn't finished and although I know the way forward, I have other pressures on my time (I hate to mention that I have a day job as the handful of eBooks sold so far do not allow me to live off my writing). For one, I want to finish the sequel to The Journeymen. Apart from a sense of completion, I'd love to know how the story ends up - that's how I write stories of the sort that I enjoy reading, I write them without knowing the ending until, well, the end. In addition I have another book, currently titled 'Assassin' that looks at a future UK following the worst terrorist atrocity to hit the UK mainland. It's been in production for five years and is so dark that I can only write a thousand words at a time before putting it aside.

So I'm taking a break from the blog, which won't affect the millions of blog readers assiduously avoiding it, however it may affect the small but dedicated number of readers who have tuned in on a regular basis (thanks for your patronage). If I stumble across an eBook related story that needs pushing out further, then I may write an occasional blog, but otherwise I don't intend posting again until after the summer, perhaps the autumn. I will post the end of Project: Evil on the blog before publishing the story on Amazon, Smashwords etc. Promise. Just not promising when. Most of the remainder is already written, including a very funny part where Bund attacks the secret facility, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait for that. I could post what is written already, but as I'm in the final stages of the story, it will make more sense to post it as a final set of posts.

So, for my regular readers, au revoir. For anyone else stumbling across this blog - welcome, see you in the fall.

Friday, 11 May 2012

Project: Evil - The Christmas Party part 2

‘Thank God for that. He may be critical to the success of this project, but he’s one greedy bastard,’ he said. ‘How is he suddenly a secret weapon? Do I roll him over the opposing teams?’ Brian shook his head.

‘He’s a walking talking encyclopedia for music questions. He knows every piece of trivia about the music industry that exists,’ he said. O’Feld looked confused, held up the sheets of paper Brian had passed him.

‘Why should that matter? I’ve got the answers,’ he said. Brian shrugged.

‘I’m contractually obliged to provide you with the information you need to run your business,’ Brian said, quoting an article he’d read in the Telegraph. Admittedly it was part of a strip cartoon, but, hey, it was the Telegraph. O’Feld raised his bushy eyebrows, so Brian had to continue. ‘And you never read instructions, even when the success of a project depend on it. Believe me, you need Froshdu at your side in the quiz.’ O’Feld seemed satisfied with this explanation, so he decided to look for a project update. ‘When do we leave for the South Seas?’ he asked. Brian looked at his watch.

‘Straight after the party, the airship’s moored outside ready to roll. Pilot’s getting smashed on the two-fers and his crew are unfit to stand already.’

Is that wise?’ asked Daw. ‘Those airship crew can drink one hell of a lot and the bar tab has been calculated on our normal consumption.

‘Good point, Daw,’ said O’Feld, nodding to Brian, ‘we’d better double the tab, there’s no way I’m flying in an airship crewed by drunken pilots with emerging hangovers. Best we keep them sloshed,’ he added. Brian nodded as he scribbled a note in his pad.

‘Is he good, the captain?’ asked Daw, aware that he hadn’t been involved in the recruitment.

‘The best, used to work cruise liners off the coast of Italy. It seems he’s struggled to get regular work lately, so this was a peach of a job for him,’ said Brian, tapping his nose. Daw looked satisfied, so Brian returned to fussing over the buffet, picking up a handful of sandwiches and placing them to one side. He fished a laminated sign from his pocket and placed it in front of the food provided by the Head of Catering.

‘Gluten Free?’ asked O’Feld, puzzled. ‘I thought the whole buffet was free,’ he explained. Brian didn’t look up, just tidied up the arrangement.

‘It’s a health thing, the second but one bullshit to replace hyperactivity,’ he explained. ‘Nearly overtook assumed dyslexia as an explanation for thick kids, the one generally used by the thick parents providing the genetic seeds,’ he continued. O’Feld was more confused; most of his henchmen were thick and proud, and lying about anything was a company requirement.

‘So, this gluten thing, is it common?’ he asked as Brian placed an extremely attractive chocolate cake in the gluten free area, one Brian had found with his name on, in the Head of Catering’s handwriting.

‘Nope, we only have one person who has insisted on a gluten free buffet,’ he said, looking pleased with his efforts.

‘The EVIL Officer?’ asked Daw.

‘I thought we’d had him killed?’ asked O’Feld, irritated that his instruction had been ignored. Brian shuffled nervously.

‘He pulled your name in the Secret Santa, nobody else wanted that gig,’ blurted Brian. O’Feld’s eyes lit up.

‘I’d forgotten about that, when is it?’ he asked.

‘Just before we cast off,’ replied Brian, biting into a sausage roll. O’Feld looked at Daw, who was grinning maniacally.

‘Which evil bastard arranged it so that he got my Secret Santa?’ he asked, impressed that someone in the organization could see how a difficult situation could be avoided while obeying an instruction, even if a little late. At least he would have the opportunity to pull the trigger himself.

‘It was his last request, to be allowed to draw a name for the Secret Santa,’ answered Daw, looking at his fingernails, knowing what the next question would be – O’Feld never read policies.

‘We grant last requests?’ he said, incredulous. Daw shook his head.

‘No, policy says we have to give them the opportunity to make the last request, the same policy insists we ignore it. It’s just a bit of fun,’ he answered.

‘But?’ asked O’Feld.

‘But when he drew your name out, I felt it only reasonable that we allow it.’ O’Feld looked satisfied. As far as he was concerned policies were rules and O’Feld Industries’ rule number one was that rules were for breaking. Except rule number one, of course.

‘So, what’s he got me?’ asked O’Feld, absently slipping a dum-dum round into the chamber of the gun he’d found slipped into his hand, wondering who it had come from.

‘What does it matter?’ asked Brian, wiping gun oil down the front of his tux, ‘it’s unlikely to be suitable,’ he said.

‘You provided him with guidance, didn’t you?’ asked Daw, impressed. Members of staff who provided untrue and erroneous information to work colleagues was not only despicable, it was an essential trait in Human Resources departments; when this project was over, he could have a senior role for Brian. O’Feld had had enough of the chit-chat; more importantly, he’d filled his pockets with buffet.

For quick access to the various Kindle, Kobo, WH Smith and Smashword links please use the table below to view my books

To View My books In....

Wednesday, 9 May 2012

Project: Evil - The Christmas Party part 1

Brian fussed around the tables, carefully removing anything the Head of Catering had provided and replacing it with food provided by Dodgy and Flakey. He looked up as Daw approached.

‘How are the arrangements?’ asked Daw, eying the food carefully.

‘Tribute band warming up, disco ready to roll, armour plated glass fitted to all the photo-copiers,’ replied Brian. It was all pretty standard Christmas party preparations. Daw looked at the photocopiers lined up against the wall.

‘The docket said the glass was one inch thick instead of the normal half inch?’ he said, questioning Brian.

‘Froshdu,’ answered Brian, not looking up. Daw nodded; he’d forgotten about him. Which reminded him to scoop some food up before the greedy bastard turned up.

‘How come they have handles on the upper surface?’ he asked, hoping his lack of engineering knowledge didn’t make him look more stupid than senior management usually did. Brian looked at the row of photocopiers, their lids raised off one side by the gold effect plastic handles.

‘NoDangerStyleUK supplied the glass, a very good price but apparently they don’t know how to make glass panels without handles. Our gain and some poor sod in Chippenham’s loss, apparently,’ he answered, returning to filtering out the food provided by the Head of Catering.

‘I saw an ambulance leaving as I arrived,’ Daw said, pushing sausages on a stick into his jacket pocket. Brian continued fussing over the table while he answered.

‘A henchman set off a party popper in a room full of other henchmen,’ he said.

‘And he’s still alive?’ asked Daw, shaking his head. He really had to get a grip on the induction training if henchmen were still making that mistake.

‘Nah, but the Ambulance Service haven’t had a pay rise in over three years – as a Christmas gesture we let them take the body away to weigh it in for the lead content,’ answered Brian.

‘What’s the order of play then?’ asked Daw fiddling with his bow tie and pulling his bullet proof vest down neatly. Brian looked up.

‘The Elimination Karaoke is underway right now, in fact the first two losers were added to the ambulance, and then we have the Christmas quiz and buffet, followed by the raffle…’

‘Raffle?’ asked Daw, searching his memory for a policy that allowed staff to receive rewards independent of ability, virtue or rank, not that there was any policy that allowed them to receive rewards based on ability, virtue or rank either. Brian understood the look.

‘It’s fixed, of course. You get the bottle of single malt and O’Feld gets first prize,’ Brian said, to Daw’s approval.

‘Make sure it isn’t primed, otherwise we’ll all be blown to smithereens before the end of the party,’ he cautioned. Suddenly they both became aware that the door had opened and O’Feld had entered, stirring his arms in opposite directions.

‘Techno, techno techno prisoners,’ he sang as he approached the two men, a drink in both hands. ‘Brian, great Christmas party’, he said, slurping from one drink, then the other. Brian just assumed the second one was the antidote. ‘I’ve only one negative observation; timing. It’s late January,’ he pointed out. Brian shrugged: projects, it’s just the way they go, he guessed.

‘It’s been run on PRINCE2 lines,’ he explained.

‘According to the Head of Finance you’re on budget,’ accused Daw. Brian felt a little uncomfortable; he’d tried to overspend, but Dodgy and Flakey were so damned reasonable, plus they had some poison left over from a corporate gig.

‘OK, so I’ve missed one of the three critical points, but it is late and I’m sure it won’t deliver to specification,’ he blustered. And I’ve included a project office in the main building, according to PRINCE2, lavishly furnished project offices are both unnecessary and divisive. If that doesn’t screw the budget and alienate the workforce, nothing will,’ he said. Brian had been looking forward to occupying his office, lording it up over the other managers in his air conditioned space while they sweltered in their pod world outside. O’Feld seemed satisfied with the answer and turned to leave, halting briefly.

‘The Christmas quiz?’ he asked, holding his monocle up to the light.

‘Ready when you are,’ answered Brian, fumbling inside his bullet-proof tuxedo, pulling the sheet of questions and answers out.

‘Is that my copy?’ asked O’Feld, sweat beading on his brow, concern that he’d have to shoot his project manager on the eve of travelling to the South Seas. Luckily for Brian, he didn’t try to mess O’Feld around.

‘Sure,’ he said, handing the sheets over. O’Feld scanned the pages quickly before slipping them inside his tux, ‘it has all the answers on and don’t forget your secret weapon.’ O’Feld looked up suddenly.

‘Secret weapon? That sounds like my kind of quiz,’ he said, wondering how many bullets it would hold.

‘Doctor Froshdu,’ clarified Brian. O’Feld’s eyes showed panic, causing Brian to explain the rest of his strategy. ‘I’ve told him to arrive at eight, food’s being served at seven thirty,’ he said, watching O’Feld’s face relax.

For quick access to the various Kindle, Kobo, WH Smith and Smashword links please use the table below to view my books

To View My books In....

Sunday, 6 May 2012

Project: Evil - Another Flaming Friday Brunch part 2

‘So, what’s your proposal?’O’Feld asked, leaning back in his seat.

‘An employee incentives scheme,’ replied Daw, checking his notes. A dark cloud passed over O’Feld’s face.

‘What’s wrong with the current incentives scheme, the one where we promise not to kill anyone who still has some use?’

‘It’s fallen out of popularity since you had the scheme manager shot.’ O’Feld shrugged.

‘I just said that I wanted him to nominate a bunch of henchpersons for slaying, and he said “over my dead body”. So I just fulfilled his wish; that’s what a caring boss does for his managers,’ said O’Feld, running a thumb absently along a conveniently accessible cutlass, drawing blood. Unfortunately Daw’s.

‘Well, we think a real incentive scheme, one that provides employees with hope, is a good idea,’ said Daw, sucking his thumb.

‘We?’ asked O’Feld suspiciously.

‘Brian and me,’ replied Daw looking intently at his thumb, adding, ‘or just me if you think it’s a really good idea,’ he said, enjoying the taste. I don’t suppose you could...’ he asked, holding his other thumb out. O’Feld shook his head; it was against his principles to please his employees.

‘So, what’s this idea?’ he asked, looking directly at Brian.

‘Well, it’s to do with the upcoming Christmas party,’ said Brian, watching O’Feld’s eyes light up.

‘Go on,’ said O’Feld, excitement in his eyes.

‘Well, I thought,’ said Brian, interrupted by a cough from Daw, ‘We thought...’

‘As long as you like the idea,’ interjected Daw, adding, ‘because if you don’t, it’s his idea.’ Brian continued.

‘...that we could offer premium places in the buffet queue to the top performing employees,’ continued Brian, trying to read O’Feld’s face. For a moment he thought he could read “obituary”, which was a bit of a concern.

‘Why would that be an incentive? I might be a mad, bad, mean bastard, but I always make sure there’s enough food for everyone at the Christmas do,’ he said, looking to the Head of Catering for support.

‘Strictly, enough for the survivors,’ the catering lead clarified, adding, ‘don’t forget we always hold the Elimination Karaoke first.’ O’Feld’s eyes watered as he relished the only singing contest that saw the losers shot – it was so good an idea that Simon Cowell had bought the rights not realising that the idea had been stolen from him initially.

‘OK, but given that we always provide more than enough food for the survivors, why would employees be driven to work harder just to get first crack at his buffet?’ he asked, nodding at the Head of Catering. Brian ignored the evil steely stare from the Head of Catering as he replied.

‘Because Doctor Froshdu is on the senior management quiz team, and we always get first crack at the food,’ he said, watching O’Feld’s eyes turn to fear.

‘Oh my god, that’s so evil,’ he said, trying to remember if protocol insisted that he had his portion before everyone else. Then he remembered that recent tradition determined he didn’t, but he liked the way Brian was thinking. ‘So I don’t have to order employees to act as food tasters for me this year, instead they’ll work their arses off for a chance to test the food for poison? That is absolutely brilliant,’ he said, pulling a rubber stamp out of his jacket pocket. ‘Here, pass me some more of those bogus expense claims,’ he insisted. Daw turned to Brian as he slipped an expense claim for a fictitious journey under O’Feld’s nose.

‘I told you he’d love it,’ he said. Brian shrugged; he’d survived, that was enough.

‘How did you know he’d go for it?’ he asked, pulling his expense claim for a bar of bullion and changing the quantity to two.

‘Two years ago a henchman, er henchperson,’ Daw said, looking nervously at the Diversity Lead, who was glaring at him, ‘pushed in front of him and promptly died from poisoning. Same thing happened last year too,’ he said, picking up the expense form and slipping it in his pocket. ‘Kind of set the tradition,’ he said. The Head of Catering glowered.

‘It was a new recipe; we’ve learned to test them out in the canteen first now,’ he said defensively, a blush rising on his cheeks. ‘Anybody can make a mistake,’ he added.

‘Two years running?’ asked Daw, shaking his head. ‘Strictly, company policy expects senior managers to achieve a much higher hit rate than that.’

‘What was the dish that poisoned both times?’ asked Brian, fishing through the remains of the Friday buffet, hooking out a salmon sandwich, taking a bite as he waited for the Head of Catering to reply.

‘The one you’re eating,’ he said, grinning from ear to ear as Brian reached for a bucket. From within the confines of the steel cone he heard O’Feld continue with the meeting.

‘I understand you have a policy report to make, Daw,’ he said, ripping the agenda up, indicating that it was the last item to be considered. Daw addressed the meeting.

‘We’ve been instructed by a Non Governmental Organisation to provide details of the induction safety training we provide to child labour uninhabitants at our overseas manufacturing facilities,’ he said, looking at an official looking sheet of paper. ‘It’s a minefield,’ he added.

‘What? Are you going all “moral hazard” on us, Daw?’ asked O’Feld, impatiently, crooking his fingers over “moral” and “hazard”, wondering who the hell voted for these NGOs anyway. Daw looked surprised.

‘No, that’s the induction safety training I was reading out,’ he explained, adding, ‘“It’s a minefield” is the standard instruction, as we don’t want the uninhabitant kids to play there,’ he said.

‘You don’t encircle the minefield with barbed wire?’ asked Brian incredulously, removing his head from the bucket. Daw looked horrified.

‘How would they get back to their accommodation?’ he asked. Brian nodded; he hadn’t thought of that. O’Feld stood up, pushed his pens in his pocket, grabbed his rubber stamp and made to leave.

‘Never mind their accommodation, you cruel bastard,’ he said to Daw as he passed. ‘They’re children, for God’s sake. Don’t you know how dangerous barbed wire is to kids?’