Ah! The World Cup!

My staff and I are on the same wave-length : we should close at 16h instead of 18h and get home in time for the first game everyday.

But as socially responsible citizens living in times of dearth and desolation, of which today’s Budget Speech will remind us, we have sensibly refrained from voicing our dreams. We will trudge on.

No matter that we will be missing those heart-tripping moments when the national anthems play, or those corny clichéed descriptions of star players in each team before the game begins, or those ads which we will be mouthing simultaneously by the end of the Cup.

How we will survive such trepidation when England or France (bearing Dhorasoo of Mauritian descent) plays, God only knows. My next demand to my director will not be a microwave for our kitchenette, nor a fridge, nor even a raise.

It might well be for a flat-screen TV with surround-sound to be hung in our open space, just loud enough for us to run to the show each time a goal is nearly scored, i.e., all the time.

Actually, I might just bring it in tomorrow.