Irving's Igloo: An Experiment

Irving sat down at his desk, booted up his computer, cracked his knuckles and surveyed the mood around him.

Irving’s desk wasn’t in a cream-walled office; no, it sat atop a mound of stiffened Nescafe Blend 43 granules.

Truth was, Irving worked inside an igloo with a bunch of multi-coloured penguins, all of whom shared the same name: Pestulio.

The Pestulios weren’t ruffled by the repetitive work. In fact, their wings flapped more excitedly as each day went on.

Irving sported a daily mask. It was pink when the Wig Bigs moved his desk to atop the tiny coffee mountain; now it was purple.

Irving endured the morning. In cricketing parlance, he copped them all over the body. Time for a drink. He grabbed his jacket.

Irving traipsed through PengLand’s sleety streets, Sun Kil Moon’s Benji in his ears, until he hit the Worm ‘n’ Apple pub.

Inside, the bar manager – a burly penguin who’d changed his name by deed poll from Pestulio to Panpam – was stacking glasses.

“What can I get you, old friend?” flapped the bar manager. “A triple Maker’s – no ice,” replied Irving.

Irving got drunk. When several Pestulios dropped in for a drink, he abused them. “You blokes all look the same,” he slurred.

Next day was St Patrick’s Day. Irving was hungover. He couldn’t face the Pestulios after the night before. So he rang in sick.

Then it was Wednesday and time to go to work again. Irving made a promise to himself to never get so Allenby’d again.

But, of course, he did.