Next time stay in bed.
Got up, got onto a delayed train, actually that isn’t entirely true. I actually got on a train that wasn’t scheduled on the timetable to make up for 3 cancelled trains earlier, I’m not entirely sure how that works but either way it was reminiscent of a sardine tin. Walked up The Strand and the morning was fine, Shostakovich on the Ipod, cup of coffee flavoured coffee (see passim) and not too many random loonies trying to walk through me.
Turned the corner on the Strand and walked into work. Just to see a flood of people in the main entrance area. Not exactly what I was hoping for. Slide, push my way through the press of milling wildebeast to find the cause of my problems. Firstly we had been sent renta bod. Indeed I had a shaved simian in an ill fitting suit arguing with people. My shoulder twitched in some sort of a sixth sense alert, symbiotically linked to the encroaching danger. The earpieces have since been left to dangle and the Gadfly plays quietly to itself.
Renta bod, apparently is having problems with the concept of allowing delegates into a building. He is arguing with an events organiser and of course around 40 or so members of the IBA event. I look at him, I look at the organiser and well just hit the break glass on the barriers and ask everyone to come in.
Renta bod starts to argue, renta bod thinks he’s right, renta bod has now left the building. Renta bod has cost me a morning of apologetic phone calls and at the moment a startling sharp mail to a Mr Webster who chose to foist him on us this morning.
I have come to the conclusion that having taken Friday off to have some expensive and highly trained torture performed on my shoulder (Osteopath) should actually have been today and damn going to work on Friday.
Humph, mutter, grumble. Anyway tomorrow starts with haircut, then torture then cooking then well bed I guess.