Wednesday

Anyone stupid or bored enough to have been watching the Parliamentary channel this morning would have had a fair chance of seeing Yours Truly sitting behind the Minister desperately aware that although I wanted nothing more than to doze off, I was in a straight line with the Minister and a TV camera. You will have seen, therefore, a middle-aged baldy desperately ruffling papers around behind the despatch box, putting his glasses on and then taking them off again a number of times before staring desperately at random briefing papers in a barely successful attempt not to be ejected from Parliament for snoring during an adjournment debate.

I didn’t want to be there, wasn’t needed and came out far tireder¹ than I went in; which considering the amount alcohol that went down last night is no great wonder.

This morning, descending upon the lounge of the Athenaeum Club and hour earlier than normal so I could attend the most pointless debate in history, I came upon a scene of devastation tinged with red. colonel_maxim, pax_draconis and to a lesser extent, ellefurtle had carried on swilling the port for some time after I’d showered and turned in last night. Much of that port was soaking into the table. Too much fortified wine shared among too many clumsy drunks.

Oh dear.

This morning I found myself escorting a still tipsy pax_draconis down to Euston, miserable and hungover, he. At least he had a fry up to look forward to; the best I managed was a medium latte with an extra shot of espresso in it. Had I not had that, the opening paragraph of this missive may have been written from The Tower, and for once I am not referring to the Athenaeum Club.

Still, I have just received a text from Miss Furtle announcing her intention to get real food in for this evening, so all is not lost.

I hope this afternoon, that we will have a new logo for De-clog (for we are they) so that I can get this damned consultation paper out before disappearing from the office for 6 days (weekend included) for NWO. With a little luck, I might also be able to finish off the last referee sheet, too.

But first, a hunt for cheese, Gromit. Cheese.

¹I am aware that there is no such word, but it does so wind up telemeister

Wednesday

Anyone stupid or bored enough to have been watching the Parliamentary channel this morning would have had a fair chance of seeing Yours Truly sitting behind the Minister desperately aware that although I wanted nothing more than to doze off, I was in a straight line with the Minister and a TV camera. You will have seen, therefore, a middle-aged baldy desperately ruffling papers around behind the despatch box, putting his glasses on and then taking them off again a number of times before staring desperately at random briefing papers in a barely successful attempt not to be ejected from Parliament for snoring during an adjournment debate.

I didn’t want to be there, wasn’t needed and came out far tireder¹ than I went in; which considering the amount alcohol that went down last night is no great wonder.

This morning, descending upon the lounge of the Athenaeum Club and hour earlier than normal so I could attend the most pointless debate in history, I came upon a scene of devastation tinged with red. colonel_maxim, pax_draconis and to a lesser extent, ellefurtle had carried on swilling the port for some time after I’d showered and turned in last night. Much of that port was soaking into the table. Too much fortified wine shared among too many clumsy drunks.

Oh dear.

This morning I found myself escorting a still tipsy pax_draconis down to Euston, miserable and hungover, he. At least he had a fry up to look forward to; the best I managed was a medium latte with an extra shot of espresso in it. Had I not had that, the opening paragraph of this missive may have been written from The Tower, and for once I am not referring to the Athenaeum Club.

Still, I have just received a text from Miss Furtle announcing her intention to get real food in for this evening, so all is not lost.

I hope this afternoon, that we will have a new logo for De-clog (for we are they) so that I can get this damned consultation paper out before disappearing from the office for 6 days (weekend included) for NWO. With a little luck, I might also be able to finish off the last referee sheet, too.

But first, a hunt for cheese, Gromit. Cheese.

¹I am aware that there is no such word, but it does so wind up telemeister