On a wet November afternoon, the branch closed early for the first staff meeting to take place in over twelve years. As the recently arrived assistant manager, I was asked to take notes.  

In attendance were brothers Adrian and martin Chipper who’d worked at the branch mill for the last 36 years. Adrian was a large kind hulk and enjoyed mumbling confusing advice to customers. When I first saw his large smiling face, I knew he was a kind soul yet Martin, older by a year, was a bully who not only had Adrian under his thumb but had slowly learned to control the branch operation from the yard mill.

Colin Trollope was almost eighty and worked doggedly behind the counter for the last thirty years.

“He’ll die in that place,” his wife remarked to me once. Colin had two strokes by then, yet would never give up smoking. He walked as tiered as he looked, often irritated by others lack of knowledge and coughing violently between his many fag breaks. As devoted as he was, Colin continuously feared the company would find a way to sack him for his frequent failings.

Serving almost as long were Phil and Kevin Hopkins, brothers who’d driven for the branch for almost thirty years. Phil was short, health conscious and full of angst, while Kevin was taller, wider and laughed frequently, where Phil frowned.

 Nicholas, a young self-help fanatic, serving customers and the tyranny of Martin in the yard for almost two years when I arrived three months earlier. Nicholas was honourably discharged from a promising army career with a fractured spine and although he was a tall, fit young man, he lacked confidence.

Joe was the embattled manager of the branch. Short, shifty yet friendly and always eager to find consensus, poorly-hid a cocaine-addiction and often drove a heavy goods lorry on the side. This had just come back to haunt him as the DVLA were now investigating, as well as the company.

As there were eight people present and four people unable to attend, it was agreed the meeting was quorate and could go ahead.