A Hard day's Night

To bed then shortly, I guess.

It hasn't been much of an evening. I didn't leave the office until 7.25 this evening on account of the boss's boss panicking over tomorrow's meeting with The Monster. I didn't mind that so much; the occasional late stay isn't unreasonable. It was finding out when I got to Victoria Station that the entire Victoria Line had been suspended. In itself, no biggie - simply take the District or Circle to Embankment and change onto the Northern Line. I do that fairly frequently anyway. Except that tonight it turns out that there are severe delays on the Northern Line. I was lucky in that a train was just pulling in and because I always go right to the rear of the train, I just managed to blag one of the folding seats. The tannoy announced that we should all get on this train as the next wouldn't be along for 23 minutes.

It was, of course, an Edgware train, meaning another decant at Camden Town. But at least I was moving. At Leicester Square there seemed to be some dispute about how long people would have to wait for another train (down to 11 minutes - the train behind us must have been tanking it!), so a lardy boy that makes me at my heaviest look supremely undernourished decided to try and get on the already packed carriage as the doors were closing. He managed to insert and trap one tree trunk and half a shoulder before being forced to wait until the driver decided to have mercy and open the doors. The driver had no mercy. We sat in the station for three or four minutes with Johnny Continent wedged where he was until the strain on his other tree trunk eventually became too much and he extricated himself back on to the platform.

We left and he was berated by a braver-than-me young woman on the platform. Uncharitable of me, I know, especially since I am hardly Harry Svelte myself, but I'm glad he didn't get on: there was clearly not enough room and the portions of his anatomy we were exposed to smelt as though they hadn't seen soap and water for a couple of decades. Very unpleasant.

At Camden Town everyone as usual, decanted onto the High Barnet branch, leaving a couple of bewildered tourists to go to Edgware whilst patently wondering if we knew something they didn't. Of course the Barnet platform was as packed as the Edgware platform was empty and still the bloody trains rolled on up to Edgware.

Anyway, I finally got home around 8.45.

Poor Furtle is medicated to the eyeballs and beyond and under doctor's orders not to go to work at all this week. We had dinner. I watched an X-Files but she faded and came up to bed, poor flower.

On the bright side, her medication-enhanced fever dreams did mean that when I was changing to go and get a shower, she poked her head from under the duvet to inform me that she had just dreamt that I was having trouble getting my pet jellyfish through immigration while we were heading off on our holidays.

A Hard day's Night

To bed then shortly, I guess.

It hasn't been much of an evening. I didn't leave the office until 7.25 this evening on account of the boss's boss panicking over tomorrow's meeting with The Monster. I didn't mind that so much; the occasional late stay isn't unreasonable. It was finding out when I got to Victoria Station that the entire Victoria Line had been suspended. In itself, no biggie - simply take the District or Circle to Embankment and change onto the Northern Line. I do that fairly frequently anyway. Except that tonight it turns out that there are severe delays on the Northern Line. I was lucky in that a train was just pulling in and because I always go right to the rear of the train, I just managed to blag one of the folding seats. The tannoy announced that we should all get on this train as the next wouldn't be along for 23 minutes.

It was, of course, an Edgware train, meaning another decant at Camden Town. But at least I was moving. At Leicester Square there seemed to be some dispute about how long people would have to wait for another train (down to 11 minutes - the train behind us must have been tanking it!), so a lardy boy that makes me at my heaviest look supremely undernourished decided to try and get on the already packed carriage as the doors were closing. He managed to insert and trap one tree trunk and half a shoulder before being forced to wait until the driver decided to have mercy and open the doors. The driver had no mercy. We sat in the station for three or four minutes with Johnny Continent wedged where he was until the strain on his other tree trunk eventually became too much and he extricated himself back on to the platform.

We left and he was berated by a braver-than-me young woman on the platform. Uncharitable of me, I know, especially since I am hardly Harry Svelte myself, but I'm glad he didn't get on: there was clearly not enough room and the portions of his anatomy we were exposed to smelt as though they hadn't seen soap and water for a couple of decades. Very unpleasant.

At Camden Town everyone as usual, decanted onto the High Barnet branch, leaving a couple of bewildered tourists to go to Edgware whilst patently wondering if we knew something they didn't. Of course the Barnet platform was as packed as the Edgware platform was empty and still the bloody trains rolled on up to Edgware.

Anyway, I finally got home around 8.45.

Poor Furtle is medicated to the eyeballs and beyond and under doctor's orders not to go to work at all this week. We had dinner. I watched an X-Files but she faded and came up to bed, poor flower.

On the bright side, her medication-enhanced fever dreams did mean that when I was changing to go and get a shower, she poked her head from under the duvet to inform me that she had just dreamt that I was having trouble getting my pet jellyfish through immigration while we were heading off on our holidays.

Thursday, eh? Pah.

Well the TFL website says there is a good service operating, but my journey in this morning was barely improved on the one home last night. Even Creepy Swedish Guy (yes, I was that late) looked perturbed as he barrelled troll-like along the platform at Euston.

Today promises to be a corker. We have to achieve a number of impossible tasks before lunchtime and everyone but me has been dragged off into meetings to discuss how horrible the situation is, instead of actually doing something about it. According to my watch there are two hours left, but then deadlines seem to mean very little these days.

I am trying to understand the logic of my office computer, which when I logged on this morning, told me that my password would expire in a month and would I like to change it now? A warning is useful, but a full month? I’ll change it then, if that’s OK. It will give me time to think of something that fits our security requirements, is memorable enough for me to remember but obscure enough for no-one to guess. We used to be given randomly generated passwords from a coupon book. No-one could remember them and kept them in their desk drawers making something of a mockery of it all.

I am still unsure as to whether I shall be required to attend the lunchtime meeting with the Monster. I am hoping not and in a little display of rebellion have failed to wear a tie (I never wear a tie these days unless I am meeting members of the great unwashed or someone who thinks they’re important). I used to keep a spare one in my desk drawer, but that seems to have gone AWOL – along with all the old password slips. Maybe I should reinstate the practice.

Thursday, eh? Pah.

Well the TFL website says there is a good service operating, but my journey in this morning was barely improved on the one home last night. Even Creepy Swedish Guy (yes, I was that late) looked perturbed as he barrelled troll-like along the platform at Euston.

Today promises to be a corker. We have to achieve a number of impossible tasks before lunchtime and everyone but me has been dragged off into meetings to discuss how horrible the situation is, instead of actually doing something about it. According to my watch there are two hours left, but then deadlines seem to mean very little these days.

I am trying to understand the logic of my office computer, which when I logged on this morning, told me that my password would expire in a month and would I like to change it now? A warning is useful, but a full month? I’ll change it then, if that’s OK. It will give me time to think of something that fits our security requirements, is memorable enough for me to remember but obscure enough for no-one to guess. We used to be given randomly generated passwords from a coupon book. No-one could remember them and kept them in their desk drawers making something of a mockery of it all.

I am still unsure as to whether I shall be required to attend the lunchtime meeting with the Monster. I am hoping not and in a little display of rebellion have failed to wear a tie (I never wear a tie these days unless I am meeting members of the great unwashed or someone who thinks they’re important). I used to keep a spare one in my desk drawer, but that seems to have gone AWOL – along with all the old password slips. Maybe I should reinstate the practice.