Geli Voyante's Hot or Not Read Free Page A

Day to help others out and, by the looks of it, not only is this a regular Christmas occurrence, it seems Mr Murphy-Lee helps out all year round. I suspect he doesn’t do this to impress people either. I can tell this because he isn’t posing in any of the photos in the “look at me, look at me” manner I equate with Tiggy. He looks oblivious in fact.
    How on earth has the most evil, most selfish girl in both hemispheres managed to snag a gorgeous, rich, nice man? How has she done it? She hates the homeless. She hates charity work. I mean, I suspect she even hates her own mother (justifiable, I’ve met Ursula), so what on earth does he see in her?
    I f it is true, if she really has managed to capture this man’s heart, then where is my Calvin Murphy-Lee? Let me face the gutting truth for one moment here, that she has uncharacteristically kept quiet about him, which makes this more likely to be the real deal. This makes no sense whatsoever.
    I am interrupted from these brain-aching thoughts (OK, and some photo-drooling as well) when my phone rings. It’s an external line meaning it has to be one of two people. It could be Tiggy herself who learnt a long time ago not to bother phoning me using her internal line here in the Gherkin as her number pops up on the display – think of the devil – or it will be Glinda.
    I no longer have caller ID for external lines since I stupidly declared it Not Hot, reasoning it effectively ruined the element of surprise. On Monday morning I arrived at my pod to discover Kenny from the IT department had decided to helpfully remove this feature for me. He didn’t realise that whereas I may have declared it Not Hot – it had been a tough week, news was slow – it didn’t mean its purpose was defunct and I wanted a personal surprise on the end of the line. I was merely pointing out that some people like to be surprised; therefore for them , but not for me, caller ID was Not Hot. Clearly Kenny has never had to write a Hot or Not column week-in, week-out. Bless him.
    I have yet to get it fixed meaning I’m now in a great dilemma. I can either risk picking up the receiver and take the fifty-fifty chance it will be Glinda and not Tiggy, or I can ignore it and phone back Glinds who will leave a message if it is her.
    Unfortunately my mentor walks past my pod as my han d is hovering over the receiver leaving me no choice but to answer. She’s not a person you should cross and she is exceptionally cranky in the morning; I really don’t fancy being placed even further down in her estimation than I already am, which is guaranteed to happen if I let this phone continue to ring... I have to answer it.

Chapter Three
     
    ‘Geli,’ the voice shrieks as I reluctantly pick up the handset in dread and trill a polite hello.
    ‘Have you seen? Have. You. Seen ?’
    ‘I’ve seen ,’ I confirm like Glinda has just asked me to verify if an asteroid is currently hurtling towards Earth or whether she’s actually inducing a pretty spectacular display from her own imagination. There’s definitely an asteroid though; scientists have named it Tiggy.
    This confirmation is met by a banshee-like wail. I empathise but, seeing as my mentor is still hovering, I have to trickily maintain an air of professionalism on the telephone, even though inside me a full-on funeral is taking place because of this tragedy, violins and all. Yes, I equal Glinda in the over-active imagination department; it’s why we’re friends.
    Although, I don’t know why I have to maintain this masquerade. Everyone knows work is just an excuse to waste the hours away in return for that all-important moolah that keeps the world ticking over nicely, albeit not as nicely as it once was with this credit crunch malarkey and the over-priced bill increases it seems to be triggering. Credit crunch aside, most jobs apart from maybe A&E staff – oh, and maybe supervising small hyperactive children – do not require full-on concentration.