Robert awoke with a startle when his alarm clock buzzed, but the hand searching for snooze button instead touched a sheet of printer paper. Who could have thought that a misplaced piece of plain paper could be a source of such discomfort. He picked it up, thrust his large glasses upon his nose and read the contents of the email that Reginald Archibald had lovingly printed and brought for him earlier that morning.
'I don't remember receiving this...or printing it...or taking it to bedroom,' murmured Robert. He scratched the back of his head, messing up the hair that had been flattened by the pillow. 'Either I am lunatic and don't remember walking in my sleep...or the guys at the materialisation department of our lab have succeeded finally...' Robert was very sceptical about the work of that particular department of their research centre. In his opinion, their work resembled more a game of baccarat than serious research, no material proof of results ever being produced. To be completely honest, even though Robert was quite staid, he could not deny experiencing a certain amount of schadenfreude about the neighbouring department's lack of results, for in the light of their misfortune the achievements of his own lab department looked much more prominent. Everything is relative, whether you want it or not.
In the kitchen Robert put the kettle on fire and prepared a mug and two Earl Grey teabags. Despite the widely accepted Briticism of drinking tea with milk he shuddered at the thought of spoiling the taste of the drink with a dairy product and preferred his tea plain, no milk, no sugar, and very strong. On the other hand, Robert was very picky about the brands of tea, to the point of having formed a sort of "His Majesty's Reserve" of a few very carefully chosen tea leave types over the past few years. When the tea was ready, he took his cup and the printed sheet of paper to the kitchen table and immersed himself in both.