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It was Christmas morning; my alarm clock went off. "Well wish it could be Christmas every day," came a song from the late eighties. I turned it off, sat up in bed and lit up a cigarette. It was 3.30am, and still dark outside. Trying to be quiet, I slowly got out of bed and with my eyes still closed, went into the bathroom and turned the taps on the bath. I proceeded to the …

…open and tapped in the alarm code to stop the ear-piercing squeal of the alarm. While the door was open, I grabbed at the piles of papers, picking them up by their strings; I threw them into the shop making as much noise as possible. I slammed the door shut and locked it; I cut the strings that held the papers together. My day's work had begun. Another ten hours and I was going home.