Being a somewhat dedicated little Newshound I often think about updating, and regularly feel a bit guilty for not keeping you all updated. Unfortunately the somewhat dedicated rarely stretches to break the barrier from thinking to doing. Today was to be one of those doing days.
In work on Good Friday you say? Ridiculous, make it a half day! So I did. Half-days are like the last day of school, there’s not much point in doing things, there’s a half day of fun stretching out in the afternoon, why can’t I bring in games and videos to have playtime all morning?
Unfortunately in the proper grown up world, where I find myself stuck, this is not an acceptable occupation of my time, so, with a lack of actual work to do, I have resigned myself to blogging with a serious face, interspersed with my thinking face, to give a front of business and productivity. And here we hit the best laid plans bit. I have left my little book of truth, with Chosen One and Lady’s Choice scribbles in it, at home. Given that these are the only new and exciting things I can impart to you clued up rugby followers, my set-aside bloggy time is now a little redundant. Instead we shall have the story of my day.
Driving to work through the frosty sunshine I ran a TopGear commentary in my head, in a Jeremy Clarkson voice, on my gear changes and driving lines through the roundabouts, of which there are many…far too many, and tried to decide if I liked Zane Low. I think I do. I arrived in work a chipper little Easter bunny, ready for a morning of potted work. Not potting work, I live life as a desk jockey these days, no pots involved. On my desk I found the carnage of a lever-arch battlefield, folders strewn and stacked away from their usual home at the end of my desk.
Boss man had been here.
There he sat, happy as the proverbial Larry, across the barrier, on his missing-a-wheel chair, eminating annoyingness. Now, he’s not all that bad, I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be annoying, but for a low-effort performance he does a pretty good job of it. As the week goes by my rage builds, and every day, on top of all the other things, there are the lever-arch files – like the X-files, but not as complicated, and rarely resolved in a single episode. This story has been running for approximately 3 months.
I am no technical genius, I have no engineering qualifications and am not particularly mechanically minded. But I can work a lever arch folder. The whole holdy-in clip thing, and the little ears to keep the folder shut, I’ve got it covered, mastered it within minutes of encountering said files.
Boss man hasn’t had such luck.
The little poly-pockets are left to roam free while the folder stands covers akimbo. Stands, in this instance is a very transient term. With no restraint the files stand just long enough for boss man to walk away and turn round to see reactions-of-a-cat Newshound dart a paw out to catch the falling, flailing folders, preventing chaos. And then begins the rebinding process, squish them down, clip them in, close the cover, stand it up, all is well.
Nearly every day this happens. He watches it happen. He watches me fix the mess. He has a little laugh about the high risk activity of trying to stand a lever arch file upright, inviting me to share his little joke. I somehow manage to contain my laughter. If I leave the office I think he opens them all, unclips the holders and piles them, unconstrained on my desk.
One day he will have no need for lever arch files, the day he meets an untimely death at the hands of an industrial strength hole-punch. Maybe.
A little grim for a sunny morning. But rage dispelled and on to the afternoon. Hen-do fun is to commence in around 2 hours, happy hen-do Rachy-Nic, good luck…for the proceedings I shall be sporting- appropriately, given the sports theme- a free diver outfit, complete with flippers and mask and snorkel. If it weren’t for my incredible control over my faculties I would be literally wetting myself with excitement. On Wednesday I bruches my teeth with my flippers on, yesterday I hung the washing up in full scuba gear. I feel I am ready.
On a final note, happy birthday to occasional Newspup and Hilljill winger lady, little Smith who’s 14 today. Oh, no…17, 24…32? Gads, these Smith’s and their youthful good looks, you never can tell…
Just jesting, Happy birthday little Smith, 19 today :o)
