The real hazards of spying on the boss

DURING the mid-Seventies, I was employed in the housing department of a district local authority. I worked in an office with len, the area manager. He was steeped in local government and was the absolute king of his domain.

Our small contingent of housing staff were viewed by len as guests. If we stepped out of line, he would soon put us right.

One of our early mistakes — when we cooked kippers in the staff kitchen — incurred a lecture from len, as he used half a can of air freshener. One afternoon, he strutted into the housing office and said: ‘I’ve got to go out. I want one of you to stay in until I get back.’

There was only me and my colleague, Peter, and we acknowledged len’s instruction. We then had a little bet that he was sneaking home for a cup of tea.

Disobeying orders, we took my car and parked in len’s road. Sure enough, his car was outside his house.

Suddenly, to our horror, len came out, got in his car and drove towards us.

I told Peter to duck down, but he hit the hazard lights switch with his knee. len drove past my flashing car.

I really had to burn rubber to get back to the office before len. Peter and I were at our desks when he walked in, looked over the top of his glasses and asked: ‘Problem with your hazards?’

Going a bit red, I said: ‘Yes, they just suddenly came on.’

len looked at Peter. ‘You probably caught the switch when you ducked down. I saw the top of your head!’

Don Townshend, Chelmsford, Essex.