“Keep it real, motherfucker!” grinned the man with the bleached blonde hair, giving me a big hearty slap on the back as he strode out of my office, and leaving me spluttering with indignation. “Doesn’t he realize that I’m a world-renowned consultant psychiatrist?” I thought to myself, “he can’t talk to me like that…”

The more I thought about it the more indignant I got, “The little shit,” I fumed, “I’ll fill him so full of Seroquel he won’t be able to tell his arse from his elbow. Why, I ought to lobotomize the bastard…”

Just then it occurred to me that I was after all a world-renowned consultant psychiatrist and I shouldn’t be thinking like that, so I made a bit of an effort to be more professional in myself and busied myself with a bit of paperwork…