My Kingdom for a Blackberry!

I’m squinting through tears of tiredness as I sit in a deserted office listening to Radiohead, thinking that the Subway sandwich (Sub of the day of course – Tuesday = Meatball Marinara Madness) that constituted dinner was a long time ago, and wishing I was on a sofa with the home made Crunchie ice cream that the wife knocked up earlier. Alas. But with the morning comes a fresh onslaught of strife direct to my inbox, so I have to make the most of these lulls, even if they only come about at 9:40 pm. I do actually have a sleeping bag in my bottom draw, cereal on my desk and a gloriously futuristic shower on the seventh floor should the worst happen..

So anyway, there are too many things and not enough people: a great ratio when applied to food, but terrible when applied to tasks. Mistakes are creeping into our work and mental psyche. Kate keeps emailing the Black Eyed Peas’ manager when she means to drop me a note as we have similar names. A colleague who shall remain nameless submitted their subscription to the Daily Mail for me to process as an expenses claim earlier (this could explain their general agitated state – Jon Gaunt can’t be good for high blood pressure). I’ve been adding really simple tasks such as ‘getting a glass of water’ to my daily to-do list so I can enjoy the rare satisfaction of ticking things off more often. Another nameless colleague has been accused of foul play by their partner who can’t believe that working so late comes as standard. Even my pin up of Jenson’s girlfriend doesn’t give me the same rush of pleasure anymore…

(Stopped writing here as Frank, our ever surly security guard, tired of my protestations of homelessness and turfed me out into the night).

I’m resuming now a day later, full of jacket potato (topped with beans and tuna – killer combo) and doom mongering chat about job security at lunch, and feeling much brighter. Perhaps it’s the realisation that it’s not my fault that the extranet is doomed (I’m just a mouthpiece for a lousy system – like Barack Obama with fewer nuclear capabilities). Maybe it’s the fact that my Crunchie ice cream hadn’t yet set and was essentially a yoghurt of condensed milk and cream. Could be that I’m cheered by the homeless guy meandering down King Street yelling ‘I AM ENGLISH’ at foreign looking folk. I think it’s more to do with the fact that it’s the middle of the afternoon, and although my taste in depressing music hasn’t changed (Elliott Smith today), I’ve concluded that my overall happiness is now constrained by the volume of, and anger expressed in, my inbox, and the emotional rollercoasters of my colleagues, which permeate Dementor style through to me.

Anyway, enough pontificating on my PMS, I have to go and indulge my growing fixation on Pixie Lott, which has been fuelled by a 40ft billboard of her being put up next to the office. I think Mrs Button may have a pin-up rival before too long..

Nemesis Update: