Must... restrain... fist... of... death...

What a day I have had.

How do I loathe thee?

Let me count the ways...

Firstly: That overused phrase: Severe Delays on the Northern Line. Without taking resort in vulgarities, I am running out of ways of talking about this. Luckily, I shan't have to any more; jimfer has provided me with an icon that says it all. Whenever you see that from now on, you will know. Severe delays on the way home last night, severe delays on the way into work this morning, severe delays on the way home tonight. Now it has been suspended entirely, and probably won't be open tomorrow at all. I'd like to believe that the Tube drivers really do have my best interests at heart, but frankly they are just a bunch of overpaid arseholes and workshy lefties. They strike at the drop of a hat, for any excuse. They may even be right this time for once, but their credit ran dry years ago.

Secondly: Intarweb connection. Off at 7pm (apparently, I don't know - see firstly above. Finally reconnected around 10.30 after hanging on the phone line for an hour before I could get to speak to a person. That's service. One of the of the reasons I moved away from Entanet was because of their shoddy help line. This is the first strike; Plusnet are allowed two more.

Thirdly: October is our busiest time at work. Attendance is screwed royally because of the point already made - see firstly above. My boss has gone on holiday for a week, and the divisional manager is about to take two weeks. Oh joy. In the meantime, operating rule 8 has kicked in: this rule is the one that states (and I am paraphrasing here,) The fewer people that are are available to do the work, and the tighter the deadline this work must be done by, particularly if a) the work in question involves budgetary decisions concerning subsidy of £4 billion (give or take a shekel), and b) said deadline is immutable, then rule 7 shall be suspended, and staff affected shall organise additional and exhaustive meetings to debate the lack of operational time in which to fulfil the task.

Fourthly: Summer continues into October, and temperatures and humidity levels remain well above the seasonal norm. Life is uncomfortable and the air oppressive.

Pah.

Must... restrain... fist... of... death...

What a day I have had.

How do I loathe thee?

Let me count the ways...

Firstly: That overused phrase: Severe Delays on the Northern Line. Without taking resort in vulgarities, I am running out of ways of talking about this. Luckily, I shan't have to any more; jimfer has provided me with an icon that says it all. Whenever you see that from now on, you will know. Severe delays on the way home last night, severe delays on the way into work this morning, severe delays on the way home tonight. Now it has been suspended entirely, and probably won't be open tomorrow at all. I'd like to believe that the Tube drivers really do have my best interests at heart, but frankly they are just a bunch of overpaid arseholes and workshy lefties. They strike at the drop of a hat, for any excuse. They may even be right this time for once, but their credit ran dry years ago.

Secondly: Intarweb connection. Off at 7pm (apparently, I don't know - see firstly above. Finally reconnected around 10.30 after hanging on the phone line for an hour before I could get to speak to a person. That's service. One of the of the reasons I moved away from Entanet was because of their shoddy help line. This is the first strike; Plusnet are allowed two more.

Thirdly: October is our busiest time at work. Attendance is screwed royally because of the point already made - see firstly above. My boss has gone on holiday for a week, and the divisional manager is about to take two weeks. Oh joy. In the meantime, operating rule 8 has kicked in: this rule is the one that states (and I am paraphrasing here,) The fewer people that are are available to do the work, and the tighter the deadline this work must be done by, particularly if a) the work in question involves budgetary decisions concerning subsidy of £4 billion (give or take a shekel), and b) said deadline is immutable, then rule 7 shall be suspended, and staff affected shall organise additional and exhaustive meetings to debate the lack of operational time in which to fulfil the task.

Fourthly: Summer continues into October, and temperatures and humidity levels remain well above the seasonal norm. Life is uncomfortable and the air oppressive.

Pah.

LOST

And before I forget, pleasant as it is to watch Evangeline Lily swimming around in the skimpiest of thongs, this TV show better start paying back soon with some answers or it will be losing an audience member.

LOST

And before I forget, pleasant as it is to watch Evangeline Lily swimming around in the skimpiest of thongs, this TV show better start paying back soon with some answers or it will be losing an audience member.

You'll either know what I'm talking about or you won't...

The written word is both a blessing and a curse. Frequently both at the same time and, in the same sentence or passage.

It allows you the luxury of carefully considering and nuancing your message in a manner that might not be immediately possible in spoken language, especially if you are prone to bouts of wit d'escalier and miss the moment.

On the other hand, it is this very flexibility that ensures that the many shades of meaning get reduced to the meaning of choice by the reader, who will frequently not see alternative interpretations. Such is the case with a piece I wrote recently, and which one or two of you will have seen posted in another place.

The upshot?

I am about to embark upon a simmer war with a very self-absorbed idiot.

You'll either know what I'm talking about or you won't...

The written word is both a blessing and a curse. Frequently both at the same time and, in the same sentence or passage.

It allows you the luxury of carefully considering and nuancing your message in a manner that might not be immediately possible in spoken language, especially if you are prone to bouts of wit d'escalier and miss the moment.

On the other hand, it is this very flexibility that ensures that the many shades of meaning get reduced to the meaning of choice by the reader, who will frequently not see alternative interpretations. Such is the case with a piece I wrote recently, and which one or two of you will have seen posted in another place.

The upshot?

I am about to embark upon a simmer war with a very self-absorbed idiot.

Tomorrow

I am not looking forward to morning.

Tomorrow is the funeral, and as Shalewa's line manager I am going along to represent the division. I am also going along to represent myself, because I liked the woman. But I don't know any of her family, and I don't know what one says in these circumstances.

At what point do condolences, however sincere, become intrusion, and where is the dividing line between reserve and standoffishness? How long do I stay before I have outstayed my welcome at a family event, and how do I know that I am leaving disrespectfully early?

What do you say?

I am no good at funerals. I don't do funerals. I have only done three in my life; I avoided each of my paternal grandparents' funerals because I was young and didn't understand. I missed Uncle Des' funeral in January because I had to pack and get the Hell Out Of Dodge a week later, and couldn't spare the time or money to go back to Telford.

I have been to three funerals. Precisely that. One for my Uncle Ted who I'd only got to know in the last three years of his life. I was surrounded by family - my family - I'd never met.

What do you say?

Twenty-five years ago, I went to the funeral of my best friend's father. It was a frosty and cold January morning and I recall thinking how considerate that they'd gone for cremation.

I would rather do just about anything other than attend the funeral tomorrow.

But I liked Shalewa, and her desk is an empty space in the office. So I shall just bite down hard and go.

Tomorrow

I am not looking forward to morning.

Tomorrow is the funeral, and as Shalewa's line manager I am going along to represent the division. I am also going along to represent myself, because I liked the woman. But I don't know any of her family, and I don't know what one says in these circumstances.

At what point do condolences, however sincere, become intrusion, and where is the dividing line between reserve and standoffishness? How long do I stay before I have outstayed my welcome at a family event, and how do I know that I am leaving disrespectfully early?

What do you say?

I am no good at funerals. I don't do funerals. I have only done three in my life; I avoided each of my paternal grandparents' funerals because I was young and didn't understand. I missed Uncle Des' funeral in January because I had to pack and get the Hell Out Of Dodge a week later, and couldn't spare the time or money to go back to Telford.

I have been to three funerals. Precisely that. One for my Uncle Ted who I'd only got to know in the last three years of his life. I was surrounded by family - my family - I'd never met.

What do you say?

Twenty-five years ago, I went to the funeral of my best friend's father. It was a frosty and cold January morning and I recall thinking how considerate that they'd gone for cremation.

I would rather do just about anything other than attend the funeral tomorrow.

But I liked Shalewa, and her desk is an empty space in the office. So I shall just bite down hard and go.