Wednesday

It is a while since I actually came into the office in the gap between Christmas and New Year and I tend to forget just how quiet it can be. If every working day was like this, we would probably get more done, though at the same time the clock seems to be edging forward quite slowly. This is odd, because normally, if you are occupied at work, time passes quickly. For all that it’s not bad.

I had expected our aging IT to cope better with the lower load and perform closer to modern expectations. This has proven to be unrealistic. Despite the fact that probably 70% of staff have taken the full week off, the server seems to have joined them and is having periodic moments when it simply refuses to do anything. Maybe it’s just part of the festive spirit.

This morning’s journey into work was pleasantly uncrowded – reasonably busy but not overly so. A young couple got on the train and I found myself pondering. The young woman was sporting what appeared to my untutored eye, to be tribal marks on her cheeks: a pair of red/pink parallel stripes of what I took to be North American Native derivation¹ on each cheek. I couldn’t tell without staring whether they were painted on or tattooed. Given that she was aged between about 19 and 25, it rather suited her; it was certainly striking. I am not one to ponder another’s fashion choices², given that I make so few of my own and those to poor effect, but I found myself hoping that it was make up. She could really only carry it off because she was very fresh faced. I imagine it would look entirely different in late middle age, should she evolve into a blue-rinsed dowager in twin set and pearls.

In other news, there appears to be a London-wide shortage of mascarpone. Furtle looked for some in three supermarkets yesterday and came away empty handed. I looked in the M&S Food Hall at lunchtime and they are similarly mascarpone free. I shall try the Sainsbury’s down Victoria Street on my way home after which I have run out of convenient options. Has there been a concerted and all-out assault on the nation’s cardiovascular system this holiday?


¹As in say, A Man Called Horse

²The technical term for this statement is blatant, bare-faced lie

Wednesday

It is a while since I actually came into the office in the gap between Christmas and New Year and I tend to forget just how quiet it can be. If every working day was like this, we would probably get more done, though at the same time the clock seems to be edging forward quite slowly. This is odd, because normally, if you are occupied at work, time passes quickly. For all that it’s not bad.

I had expected our aging IT to cope better with the lower load and perform closer to modern expectations. This has proven to be unrealistic. Despite the fact that probably 70% of staff have taken the full week off, the server seems to have joined them and is having periodic moments when it simply refuses to do anything. Maybe it’s just part of the festive spirit.

This morning’s journey into work was pleasantly uncrowded – reasonably busy but not overly so. A young couple got on the train and I found myself pondering. The young woman was sporting what appeared to my untutored eye, to be tribal marks on her cheeks: a pair of red/pink parallel stripes of what I took to be North American Native derivation¹ on each cheek. I couldn’t tell without staring whether they were painted on or tattooed. Given that she was aged between about 19 and 25, it rather suited her; it was certainly striking. I am not one to ponder another’s fashion choices², given that I make so few of my own and those to poor effect, but I found myself hoping that it was make up. She could really only carry it off because she was very fresh faced. I imagine it would look entirely different in late middle age, should she evolve into a blue-rinsed dowager in twin set and pearls.

In other news, there appears to be a London-wide shortage of mascarpone. Furtle looked for some in three supermarkets yesterday and came away empty handed. I looked in the M&S Food Hall at lunchtime and they are similarly mascarpone free. I shall try the Sainsbury’s down Victoria Street on my way home after which I have run out of convenient options. Has there been a concerted and all-out assault on the nation’s cardiovascular system this holiday?


¹As in say, A Man Called Horse

²The technical term for this statement is blatant, bare-faced lie

Set phasers on stunning...

I actually think that this is something that I should have passed on to captainweasel to post, for this strikes me as being very much up JimBob's street. Nonetheless, I couldn't help myself:



Yes, they are Star Trek wetsuits, modelled on the original series. Maybe you should avoid the red one..?

Set phasers on stunning...

I actually think that this is something that I should have passed on to captainweasel to post, for this strikes me as being very much up JimBob's street. Nonetheless, I couldn't help myself:



Yes, they are Star Trek wetsuits, modelled on the original series. Maybe you should avoid the red one..?