logs
A very good weekend, with a dozen of Dr B.'s friends over at his for his Coming Out Party, followed by a drink and a dance at the White Swan.
Sunday taking care of a friend at the RVT. After the previous night's visit to the White Swan he had gone on to a string of clubs (Beyond and Later and After and Shouldn'tYouBeHomeNow? or whatever these places are called nowadays) and we found him aimlessly wondering about Vauxhall Cross looking worse for wear (so much so that I steered clear as he approached us in the street, mistaking him for one of the regular Sunday afternoon Vauxhall bums), his coat still in one of the venues he'd paid visit to, his mobile at one of our friend's.
Mushy brain today and of course, today of all days I am unexpectedly on my own in the office, and there is an upgrade to XP going on that is affecting our sister office, which means that I am inundated with unfamiliar work. It feels a bit like fumbling in the dark.
The "Crème de résistance" (as one of my colleagues said last week - and I don't think it was a joke) is that I had to spend the best part of the last half hour trying to flush The Turd that Would Not Leave down the toilet. An evil monster the size, shape and consistency of a 250g loaf of Pumpernickel bread (so now you also know what I had for tea last night). I had to shamefully report it to reception so that someone could come and take care of it.
It's going to be another fun week…
Update: (Mon, 6PM): Leaving work, loaf still blocking the loo.
Update #2: (Tue, 11AM): Loo is clear.
Tuesday 14 September 2004 at 8:10 pm
I've only just woken up, so this may still be part of a dream -but did you say Report It To Reception??
That strikes me as remarkably un-English, in some highly fundamental way.
Or is it company policy? ("Please note that all logs must be logged, a ledger is maintained at the reception desk for this purpose.")
Besides all which, what kind of reception did you get at Reception? ("Why thank you, we'll get on that right away.")
Sorry to have missed you at Verh Swom.
Wednesday 15 September 2004 at 12:02 pm
It's not an Italian thing to do either, it's just me being responsible for my actions and worrying about my colleagues' insalubrous working environment.
Our Elvis-obsessed receptionist, still in a dreamlike trance from her recent annual leave in Graceland, did not bat an eyelid.
Of course, I kept it impersonal with a general "One of the cubicles in the second floor gents' appears to be blocked".