I've sort of fused Flashdance with MC Hammer shit.

A while ago, there were two men and four women in my department.

It was a strange and difficult time. A time in which, if a woman made a sensible business decision, it would be roundly ignored until one of the men decided it was their decision after all and the idea would be immediately implemented.

We soon realised our problem. We didn’t have penises! Men can’t hear a business conversation if someone without a penis is talking!

The obvious solution was to go to Ann Summers* and buy a packet of cardboard penis headbands, as hilariously disported on hen nights across this fair land. I have one, my manager has one, my assistants both had one. If we wanted to be heard we would put our Cock Hat on to ensure that we were taken seriously.

Fast-forward four months. One of the male managers left, so the Cock Hats were relegated to the sidelines.

One of my assistants left a little while ago - her replacement started today.

Imagine his surprise when he opened the bottom drawer of his new desk and saw a giant, vivid cardboard penis squinting back at him.

I don’t suppose it helps much that he’s gay. Now I am faced with a new assistant who thinks that misplaced homophobic humour is to be foisted upon him at any given opportunity.

I am David Brent.

* The Patron Saint of Nylon