I hate that last half-centimetre of coffee in the bottom, that you forget about and that all the coffee and milo and biscuit crumbs congeal inside so that it's about as thick as sludge can be by the time to remember and tip it up.

Wonder it doesn't land on my nose with a wet plop.

Today I got a mystery package. Addressed to me, no return address. Ooooh, I thought, and shook it, and grinned, but didn't squeeze it, just hurried to open it and see who it might be.

I tipped it up, and pulled out... a cake fork.

???

And then I realised, and collapsed laughing. Last holidays, working with one of the biggest fuckwits to grace the earth, I sent an email to J^e outlining how I could like to disembowel him with a cake fork. She agreed the idea was most pleasant. A little while back, pissed off with the world, I had a bit of a rant to her via email. Her return email made little mention of my rant, but the subject line was: "The cake fork's in the mail".

I didn't think she actually meant it.

So now, I'm not sure what to do. I'm split between sending her an email thanking her for brightening up my day, or pretending nothing happened and just sending her back something fiendish and silly. Except I can't think of anything particularly fiendish, silly and appropriate at this point.