She's like the wind

It feels odd now Priya has left, sort of how the Beatles must have felt when John Lennon was assassinated. If the Beatles were a bunch of girls who spent most of their time in an office talking crap. I am used to the old psychology way of people coming and going like tumbleweed blowing in the wind, but there was something comfortingly permanent about our cosy little office, and now its just odd.

With just the two of us there, Jane and me lapse into these long silences, which is wierd because Priya herself didnt actually say that much, except the odd sarky zinger. What I realise she did do was play the jury and final word in pointless debates such as would you rather live without tea or dettol (Dettol obviously) or if you were in the position to shag Colin Farrell but you had to turn down Brad Pitt to do so, would you hate yourself (no). At the end of each of these little conundrums Priya would put in the final word, like Jerry Springer. Without her it feels like there is no Umpire to appeal to. For example, Patrick Swayze's death was talked about at indecent length today. No, actually Dirty Dancing was talked about at indecent length today, but it just wasn't the same.

Bye Bye Priya. Wherever you are there will always be a cup of Gold Blend and your favourite radio station on preset "2" here for you.