Shark

I guess most offices have their superstitions. Well, ours centres on a shark.

Meet John. He's been around for years - literally hanging around - but he only earned his name today. For a few seconds he was going to be called, worryingly, Keith. Remarkably, the name Jaws never entered the discussion.

But don't ask me why a killer shark should end up known as John.

Ok, so the superstitious bit. Well, according to a colleague who remains nameless, John is a mysterious gauge of office turmoil. If there are strong, dark undercurrents (pardon the pun), John - a blow-up shark, by the way - starts to deflate.

He also doesn't like to be moved.

When our newspaper left offices in Gloucester for Cheltenham, he turned from a magnificent creature almost bursting with air to a limp flatfish.

And when he was asked to swim from his position hanging over the newsdesk to new waters above the sub-editors, he again responded in the only way he knows how.

In a fortnight's time we are moving offices again and concerns are growing about the effect it will have on John. The trouble is, the tension itself could be taking its deflationary toll.

But whatever happens, John will always swim in the waters of editorial - it just needs someone with large lungs.