Can I go home, yet?

As at this moment I could curl up under my desk and sleep like then dead. I’m not quite sure why, but I suddenly feel incredibly tired.

Happily I am leaving the office early today, around four o’clock – though I am managing to feel a little bit guilty about that, too. Once of my colleagues has arranged a – for want of a better word - soirée for the branch at his place. A number of us can’t go, including me. Actually, I don’t really want to go, but unfortunately it crept up on me, so I didn’t realise until yesterday that it is this evening. He has taken this morning off to make preparations, so I haven’t had the chance to say anything yet and consequently feel a bit of a heel. I think that there’s still a reasonable turnout of colleagues, but I wish I’d realised when it was and had the opportunity to say something ahead of time.

I met Furtle at lunchtime to pass her rucksack to her containing her workaday clothes as opposed to the interview togs she was in. The switch went well enough, but poor Furtle was looking a little philosophical. As suspected, the interviewers, or rather the sifters, had overestimated the amount of experience she has in the field and it wasn’t helped when she had to correct one of the interviewers who had misread her CV. So she feels that it didn’t go too well, but then my experience of interviews is that they quite often go rather better than they seem. We’ll see; fingers crossed and all that.

Now I have to get on with the quagmire of last minute urgent auditor requests to unlock base data forms. The lackey is off sick, so I am stuck with the donkey work.

Coffee first, though.

Can I go home, yet?

As at this moment I could curl up under my desk and sleep like then dead. I’m not quite sure why, but I suddenly feel incredibly tired.

Happily I am leaving the office early today, around four o’clock – though I am managing to feel a little bit guilty about that, too. Once of my colleagues has arranged a – for want of a better word - soirée for the branch at his place. A number of us can’t go, including me. Actually, I don’t really want to go, but unfortunately it crept up on me, so I didn’t realise until yesterday that it is this evening. He has taken this morning off to make preparations, so I haven’t had the chance to say anything yet and consequently feel a bit of a heel. I think that there’s still a reasonable turnout of colleagues, but I wish I’d realised when it was and had the opportunity to say something ahead of time.

I met Furtle at lunchtime to pass her rucksack to her containing her workaday clothes as opposed to the interview togs she was in. The switch went well enough, but poor Furtle was looking a little philosophical. As suspected, the interviewers, or rather the sifters, had overestimated the amount of experience she has in the field and it wasn’t helped when she had to correct one of the interviewers who had misread her CV. So she feels that it didn’t go too well, but then my experience of interviews is that they quite often go rather better than they seem. We’ll see; fingers crossed and all that.

Now I have to get on with the quagmire of last minute urgent auditor requests to unlock base data forms. The lackey is off sick, so I am stuck with the donkey work.

Coffee first, though.