The Tower of Meat

One of the most interesting things about my job is illustrated by a little passage almost hidden right at the bottom of my contract which says,
"and apart from all the usual stuff, typing and such, you'll also do pretty much whatever weird shit we need you to do, or just fancy watching you do whilst we snigger generously, ok? Thanks".
This has led to me:

• carrying out a desperate, all-across-town search for brown card (or thick paper) for fashioning reindeer antlers.
  
• forcing colleagues to take home a haggis after someone over-ordered the blasted things for a Burns night supper. Ten of the fuckers, I ask you. Only twenty people work here, and not so many are fond of sheeps intestine stuffed lightly with more intestine, barley and, well, blood. And seasoning! Don't forget the the seasoning.*
  
• buying a selection of garden lights (solar powered, not plug in, thank you very much) several of which I had to return the next day as they were too "glitzy".
• driving the comedy van thirty miles along the motorway for an MOT. At thirty miles per hour, no faster, as pieces of trim kept falling off, not to mention some of the smaller engine parts easing themselves free of the structure, presumably bouncing off to enjoy a happy life of liberty.
  
• and finally, the coup de grace, catering.

Sometimes, we do lunch, and not in the way you might think, oh no! We could just get a caterer in to provide food for conferences and courses, but that would be no fun! Much better to force me to go to Asda and pile a trolley high with such delicacies as wee willie winkies**, various meats on sticks, horrid little samosas, mini pork pies***, baby-bloody-bell cheese, and so on. I also have to cut the crusts off sandwiches, I mean honestly, I didn't realise anyone did that any more. Happily, one of the other girls at work helps me out with this crap sometimes, which led to us taking things just one step further and producing the "tower of meat" special. It went a little like this:
"Let's do a whole platter with rolled up bits of cold meat - I mean, we've done the half grapefruit/cocktail sticks/wee willie winkie/cube of cheese/pickled onion hedgehog extravaganza. Twice. We could just go for it and get that 70's party vibe...."
"Oh God yes".
Picture the magic: a platter measuring roughly 60cm by 40cm piled to a depth of 15cm with rolled up tubes of ham, with a choir of mini pork pies nestled atop it. Then we did another one, beef this time, with more pork pies, and in the centre, the glory of yet more wee willie winkies, arranged so that they reached for the ceiling. And then cherry tomatoes, as a concession to health.

Tell me you don't want me to cater for your next party, I won't believe it.

*Scottish food is actually perfectly pleasant, and haggis is very good fried. If you can avoid thinking about what you are eating.
**It's a sausage, just a sausage.
***Only 40% trotter and snout. The rest is pastry. And seasoning.