Big Blokes Don't Do Furtive

Normally I don't find coming in to work too much of a hassle (with the exception of the period with The Boss From Hell^TM), but this past couple of days I've found it a real drag to, er, drag myself out of bed and make the journey down to the office. As much as anything, the newly reheated, or at least rehumidified weather doesn't help.

It maketh the inner sloth to blossom.

The main boss is on leave for a couple of weeks, so I think I shall take the opportunity to bunk off early a couple of times. As it is, I am having difficulty doing anything constructive - all part of the general malaise noted above, I guess. It's not that I can't get things done, it's more that I can't get work things done. For example, I am supposed to be overhauling the HRA Subsidy Manual (don't ask), but spent yesterday instead working on a spreadsheet to calculate play strengths for an online Gridiron team I am about to play. (This is something that pauln will know about, having a team in the same league).

I made the mistake, before coming out this morning, of emailing the spreadsheet to myself in the office. That may turn out to be a bad move. I took the opportunity to send a part written NWO thing, too. Ditto to the bad move.

Anyway, just to prove that life isn't all continuous glummage, I shall relate the story of the Beastie and the skip; an event from exaggerated true life that happened last night once DT sans LJ discovered that the Brasserie next door has closed down. There are few people in the world who can destroy chairs with the facility of our DT - I remember that in eleven years in Clapham, he managed to get through four chairs a year on average, sometimes as many in a month. He will insist on leaning forward on them, see, so that all the (not inconsiderable) weight distribution is concentrated on the two front legs. Now his own legs don't like to do that sort of thing, but have little choice in the matter. Chairs, however, expire.

Anyway, with the Brasserie closing down, a skip appeared and therein, two chairs. Now, he managed to liberate one easily enough, but the chair bug has him now, and after dark, he could be seen flitting around in the shadows transferring junk from our gaff to the skip, and attempting to recycle ex-Brasserie material our way.

Big blokes don't do furtive. Even in the darkness and deep shadow of 11.30pm, the sight of a DT trying to skitter from shadow to shadow, pink panther-like on tippy toe, with arms full of rubbish (including a broken office fan as tall as he), is something that will stay with me for a long time. As will the look of triumph when he reappeared brandishing a cane chair for his computer room. Sadly, his second trip out was wasted. Whilst hiding, ninja-like from a passing band of revelers, someone else nabbed the second chair.

What are people like?

Big Blokes Don't Do Furtive

Normally I don't find coming in to work too much of a hassle (with the exception of the period with The Boss From Hell^TM), but this past couple of days I've found it a real drag to, er, drag myself out of bed and make the journey down to the office. As much as anything, the newly reheated, or at least rehumidified weather doesn't help.

It maketh the inner sloth to blossom.

The main boss is on leave for a couple of weeks, so I think I shall take the opportunity to bunk off early a couple of times. As it is, I am having difficulty doing anything constructive - all part of the general malaise noted above, I guess. It's not that I can't get things done, it's more that I can't get work things done. For example, I am supposed to be overhauling the HRA Subsidy Manual (don't ask), but spent yesterday instead working on a spreadsheet to calculate play strengths for an online Gridiron team I am about to play. (This is something that pauln will know about, having a team in the same league).

I made the mistake, before coming out this morning, of emailing the spreadsheet to myself in the office. That may turn out to be a bad move. I took the opportunity to send a part written NWO thing, too. Ditto to the bad move.

Anyway, just to prove that life isn't all continuous glummage, I shall relate the story of the Beastie and the skip; an event from exaggerated true life that happened last night once DT sans LJ discovered that the Brasserie next door has closed down. There are few people in the world who can destroy chairs with the facility of our DT - I remember that in eleven years in Clapham, he managed to get through four chairs a year on average, sometimes as many in a month. He will insist on leaning forward on them, see, so that all the (not inconsiderable) weight distribution is concentrated on the two front legs. Now his own legs don't like to do that sort of thing, but have little choice in the matter. Chairs, however, expire.

Anyway, with the Brasserie closing down, a skip appeared and therein, two chairs. Now, he managed to liberate one easily enough, but the chair bug has him now, and after dark, he could be seen flitting around in the shadows transferring junk from our gaff to the skip, and attempting to recycle ex-Brasserie material our way.

Big blokes don't do furtive. Even in the darkness and deep shadow of 11.30pm, the sight of a DT trying to skitter from shadow to shadow, pink panther-like on tippy toe, with arms full of rubbish (including a broken office fan as tall as he), is something that will stay with me for a long time. As will the look of triumph when he reappeared brandishing a cane chair for his computer room. Sadly, his second trip out was wasted. Whilst hiding, ninja-like from a passing band of revelers, someone else nabbed the second chair.

What are people like?

Sugar Rush

For our team meeting this morning, the boss brought in a box of Krispy Kreme Dough Nuts,¹ which was rather good of him.

Had he thought it through however, he would have remembered that there are only three of us here at the moment, including him. So to buy a half dozen and then fall to the sucker punch of being offered a further half dozen for a single pound didn't make as much sense as he might have thought.

Krispy Kremes are an unabashed sugar delivery system, avoiding any and all of the remaining major non-carbohydrate food groups beyond that. I had one with my coffee this morning, and spent several hours unable to blink. I have had another, and more coffee. Lots more coffee and I haven't finished with coffee today, yet.

I shall be sleeping on the ceiling tonight.

¹I am prepared to use the proprietary name for these things, but I refuse to compromise over the spelling of the sweetmeat itself. So there.

Sugar Rush

For our team meeting this morning, the boss brought in a box of Krispy Kreme Dough Nuts,¹ which was rather good of him.

Had he thought it through however, he would have remembered that there are only three of us here at the moment, including him. So to buy a half dozen and then fall to the sucker punch of being offered a further half dozen for a single pound didn't make as much sense as he might have thought.

Krispy Kremes are an unabashed sugar delivery system, avoiding any and all of the remaining major non-carbohydrate food groups beyond that. I had one with my coffee this morning, and spent several hours unable to blink. I have had another, and more coffee. Lots more coffee and I haven't finished with coffee today, yet.

I shall be sleeping on the ceiling tonight.

¹I am prepared to use the proprietary name for these things, but I refuse to compromise over the spelling of the sweetmeat itself. So there.