Skirt of Skin

There must be a bad moon ascending as the mood in the office has been particularly gloomy the past two days. Not sure if it's the post bank holiday lull or something more sinister in the air (like synchronised menstrual cycles). Adding to the generally dark ambience I caught my finger in the paper shredder and had to be rushed to A&E. The flesh of my index finger flayed creating a skirt of skin around my knuckle and a large pool of blood in the photocopy room. Marcus, senior solicitor, stemmed the blood flow with his cashmere cardigan and got me up to the hospital. Five hours later and I was allowed home. Tony gave me a lift back and as I type (with one hand) he is off to fetch Mrs N to make my bed and fluff up my pillows. Tony has a gnarled arm from a motorbike accident and although its fully functional he tends to play on it. Just hoping Marcus doesn't expect payment for his heavily soiled designer cardigan, Tony asked me for three pound fifty for the lift back and with Ray leeching off me I'm very nearly in the red.