I'm in an alpine mood presently. The office is frigid due to our perennially malfunctioning climate control, I'm listening to the icy alpine spy adventure sounds of Goldfrapp, and I'm inexplicably thinking about Wallace & Gromit.

My offer-letter meeting is at 3pm. It's definitely a career turning point, this merger, and I'm still not sure what to do or what will happen.

I'm tired of wearing a sweater at work, and sharing a cubicle. Proximity is good for rumours, though. Word from my neighbors in the cramped IT department is that despite the decline in benefits and total compensation with the new company, the new salary offers will not be adjusted accordingly.

This does not bode well.

I drift into daydreams about Alison Goldfrapp for a while. She's one of my irrational celebrity crushes. Don't deny that you have any...everybody does. She's above average in the presentability department, but mostly I am weak for her voice, that icy but warm, echoing, loving voice. I can listen to "Deer Stop" over and over, before finally returning to that reverberating Alpine whistle at the onset of "Lovely Head".

Then I get that noodly little organ bit from the first Wallace & Gromit film stuck in my head. In "A Grand Day Out", the pair runs out of cheese, so they fly to the moon to get some.

Once there, they meet a sort of intelligent coin-operated oven-robot thing. An oven-robot which begins to dream of Alpine skiing after spotting some of their travel magazines. All the dreams have this catchy, repetitive organ soundtrack.

I just dream of having a job that makes me happy. My own cubicle, a reasonable temperature, and work that makes me happy. Work I actually enjoy. I'm getting none of these things now.

As mentioned before, the rumours do not bode well for the future.

We are in this building for 3 more years, so the climate and cubicle situations are unlikely to improve.

On the inside booklet of Goldfrapp's Felt Mountain is a photo of Alison sitting outside on a pile of logs, in earmuffs and wellingtons and wearing a pair of binoculars. Her eyes are closed. Above the wellingtons, her knees are bare and dirty.

I could use those earmuffs right now.

I have an incomprehensible compulsion to scrub her knees. That would be a job I could enjoy, but it wouldn't last very long.

The poor oven-robot runs on a timer, so after the coin runs out he stops working. For no good reason, Wallace keeps feeding him coins.

People don't really need good reasons for things, I guess. Ask me to explain why I have this job, for example.

As a consequence of the renewed coin supply, the oven-robot finally gets what he wants. Or almost. He tries to get on the rocket ship to go back to Earth with them, where he can find snow-capped Alps, but they escape and he is left behind with two pieces of metal he ripped off the rocket.

So, he fashions skis out of them and goes alpine skiing on the moon.

What I always wonder about, and has anyone else ever considered this, is what happens when his coin runs out? Then what? Is that a happy ending—he skis and then his coin runs out?

Is this a "be careful what you ask for" lesson?

The job offer comes at 3, and I hope it is in a room where we don't have to shiver for an hour as they explain them to us. And after that, what?

I ask for an increase, maybe. Or a job with the old parent company. I don't know. I should be careful.

Until then, in my dreaming mind I am alpine skiing on hills of lunar cheese. The organ song plays again and again, except it sounds like "Deer Stop".

Maybe I will do the brave thing. Maybe I will quit and make my own job doing something I am happy with. This plan verges on suicidal, but at least I would be alpine skiing when my coin runs out.