Disaster!

I'm writing this in work! I'm supposed to be shadowing the chief reporter but he's outside having a cigarette and he told me to 'look busy and have a sneaky browse of the internet.' I've decided to write something here instead - that way the editor, who sits in a little glass box in the centre of the office, will at least see I'm typing if he looks up.
Donal called in this morning on his way to school. He told me, between eating half of my granary sliced pan and a pound of Kerrygold, that he'd had a look at my blog and it wasn't bad for a first attempt. However, I needed links. What are links? I asked him, and he then proceeded to tell me. I'm still not quite sure what they are, apart from the fact that if you click on them they go to places I like.
Donal also told me that he is not fifteen, he is seventeen, and that his name is Domhnall, not Donal. Oh my god - the editor's coming. Don't look - don't look - oh my god - he's walking towards my desk.