My ring tone is still that fine song with the climbing minor key from the formidable Brummies. "You don't know what it's liiii-hiiiiilke ...." (police siren wailiing).
The basses are still in my office, but I need to think about culling (my spell check wanted to write "cumming" here, don't tell me about AI, it obviously doesn't exist) because we're leaving our office highrise in two years for a posh new location that - modern times, alas! - won't offer the same amount of space.
I've thought about the "Hey, I'm a senior partner here, I want my new office to be twice the size of everyone else's"-obvious-argument, but I haven't yet aligned it with my socialist convictions!
