Highly Strung

Internet check in is surely the best thing ever. Only one person in the queue ahead of me this morning. This time tomorrow I’ll be in Brisbane, possibly with a cold beer in hand. I will not have a cigarette in the other hand because miraculously I am still a non smoker.

Mentral Line was truly truly nuts this morning, in that it was going nowhere fast. Having made it down to the platform with my biggish suitcase I then had to haul the fucker back up again and fight my way through a bunch of people running over several feet on the way.

After standing round at a bus stop for a wee while, it was decided to cut some losses and get a mini cab. Eventually found a mini cab office and had the following conversation:

Me: Hello, could I please get a cab to Fitzroy Street W1?

Fat Controller: No, the driver won’t know where that is.

Me: It’s in the West End near tottenham court road.

Fat controller to driver: D’ya know where Tottenham Court Road is?

Driver: No

Fat controller: well, he’ll take you there but you’ll need to direct him and it’s going to cost £22.

Me: What no discount for navigation?

Having never really understood why some people feel the need to have their own office on a floor filled with open plan desks, I am surprised to find that I like nothing more than sitting in our dearly departed boss’s big old leather chair in the glass box he used to call his office – he is not dead, just departed.

There’s something quite impressive about the over sized desk and executive chair which just makes you feel kind of important for half an hour or so. <!–What I’d really like though is to put my hands behind my head, elbows out with my feet crossed and up on the desk, perhaps even top it off with a glass of whisky in my left hand and a cigar in my right. I would then engineer a situation in which I would get to use the words ‘You’re fired, haw, haw, haw…’

I am not a megalomaniac.

The man I am seeing (erm my boyfriend), is in fact a colleague, (any advice re getting involved with a colleague is taken as read..). Although it’s not a secret as such, we certainly have not been broadcasting the fact that we are seeing eachother, although I suppose it will come out eventually.

Seems though that eventually may already be here judging by this conversation repeated to me yesterday evening:

Another colleague to the bfriend just after I had gone downstairs to get changed to cycle home:

Her: So are you meeting Kirses in reception or out the back?

Him (hiding his surprise): Actually we’re meeting round the back of the bike sheds…

Male Colleague in vicinity: Wahey!

Probably there is a lot of stuff I should be getting on with, but I’m tired and can’t think properly. My living room is littered with blue post it notes instructing me to do things like remember to turn off plugs and put away my laptop before I go. The way I feel today though I think I may need to write a few more but this time with some very explicit instructions. Imagine that, a life controlled by post it notes. I could have one for each activity;

Breakfast: put bread under grill, turn toast, remove and butter toast, spread marmite. Boil water, add coffee and sugar to cup, pour boiling water over, add milk. Consume both.

Bathroom: brush teeth, wash face, moisturise, apply mascara, spray perfume.

Leave House: put gym kit in bag, check for gym padlock, ipod and travel card, apply shoes, open curtains, switch off lights, pick up keys, levae house.

I might try it one day, maybe when I am jet lagged after I fly back from New Zealand.

P.s Week One of non smoking completed