Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right...
Thursday, May 14th, 2009 12:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caddymanWell here I am all hot and bothered, with a voice that can currently manage a passably raspy Schwarzenegger. To add insult to injury, office IT issues continue, so I am without internet access or even intranet access. The former is annoying, the latter a hindrance. I don’t know what the bloody problem is with our servers, but these past two or three months something seems to die on a regular basis. At least this time we can get at our working documents.
Anyway, for reference, I am typing this at 11.38am or so, regardless of when it actually gets cut and pasted into LJ (on the off chance the servers stay off line all day, it’s 14 May!).
The surrealism quotient in London is high today and probably not helped by any meddies I take to control my cold symptoms (I would have preferred to stay in bed and sweat it out, but there are brownie points to be had in spending a day at work coughing, spluttering and sounding like a Terminator). I have noticed that people with wheelie luggage are thin on the ground, so reality is being stretched a little thin in places.
Oddness is seeping through.
When I got off the Tube at Victoria this morning, there was a noticeably high number of people wandering around vacantly muttering to themselves; clearly not on hands-free sets and talking to their stockbroker or bookie. The first indication came, however, while I was still underground. A woman across the carriage from me started coughing and spluttering in that phlegmy way you do when you have a cold or catch your throat. A voice next to me piped up in a sad, sepulchral wail, swine flu… Sat there was an odd little hunched pink morlock with hooded eyes and no apparent lips, hunkered down in a grey raincoat and a cricket hat.
That’s when I knew it was going to be one of those days…
Anyway, for reference, I am typing this at 11.38am or so, regardless of when it actually gets cut and pasted into LJ (on the off chance the servers stay off line all day, it’s 14 May!).
The surrealism quotient in London is high today and probably not helped by any meddies I take to control my cold symptoms (I would have preferred to stay in bed and sweat it out, but there are brownie points to be had in spending a day at work coughing, spluttering and sounding like a Terminator). I have noticed that people with wheelie luggage are thin on the ground, so reality is being stretched a little thin in places.
Oddness is seeping through.
When I got off the Tube at Victoria this morning, there was a noticeably high number of people wandering around vacantly muttering to themselves; clearly not on hands-free sets and talking to their stockbroker or bookie. The first indication came, however, while I was still underground. A woman across the carriage from me started coughing and spluttering in that phlegmy way you do when you have a cold or catch your throat. A voice next to me piped up in a sad, sepulchral wail, swine flu… Sat there was an odd little hunched pink morlock with hooded eyes and no apparent lips, hunkered down in a grey raincoat and a cricket hat.
That’s when I knew it was going to be one of those days…