Half the time, the shit that ends up in my mailbox isn't intended for me at all. At work I get masses of stuff for people working in the hospitals and research facilities scattered around the Uni; to be honest, it's quite frightening thinking about some of the dark activity that's so common in Manchester.

So, I'm not sure if this is even intended for me, but apparently I are being offered a secret contract with a Political Party (it's the Green Party, if you must know) to do some sort of communications work and website development.

It's from someone who calls himself Drogon Barre. I looked up the GP on the web and found they've got a comms wonk called Clifford. Drogon, Dragon, Clifford? Oh suit yerself.

I'm ignoring it anyway. They want skills I don't have.