Me: Gosh, the weather is really creepy. It feels like a fairy tale.  I’m half expecting a forest to grow up around us for 100 years. Â
Single colleague: 100 years, that’s about how long it will take the handsome prince to come alright.
Me: Gosh, the weather is really creepy. It feels like a fairy tale.  I’m half expecting a forest to grow up around us for 100 years. Â
Single colleague: 100 years, that’s about how long it will take the handsome prince to come alright.
The Narnia flick is available on pay TV in my hotel. I would quite like to watch it. I am told that “All movie charges will appear as ‘room service’ on your bill”. But we all know that my employer will think that I am watching porn. I want the movie charge to appear as “Narnia flick” on my bill. What should I do?
A friend of mine who is an employment barrister has advised me not to blog about work. I feel that this is good advice but here I am ignoring it. I suppose that this is what good advice is for.
But surely, it’s alright, if I want to say good things? On Sunday, Mr. Waffle said to me “hang in there we go back to work on Tuesday” and I smiled feebly.
The other day I got a call from a friend and former colleague.
Him: You’re back at work then.
Me: Yup.
Him: How are you finding it?
Me: It’s great actually.
Him: It’s grim here.
Me: My boss is fantastic.
Him: I’m up to my tonsils.
Me: And my staff are bright, hardworking, pleasant and (very important this) obliging.
Him (suggestion of gritted teeth): Good for you.
Me (sunnily): And I have just the right amount of work, not so much that I am stressed, not so little that I am bored.
Him (definite gritted teeth): Marvellous.
Me: And I got a call from one of the boss of bosses today and she said that a) she was delighted I was pleased with the flowers she sent to me on the birth of the boys and b) she had the picture of them that I sent with my thank you card on her desk and c) she is in Brussels in a couple of weeks with the top boss and perhaps we could all go for a nice lunch.
Him: Lovely for you. (Reflective pause) You know, it should always be like that.
Me: But it isn’t, I feel as though the gods have conspired to make everything in my working life perfect.
Him (maliciously): You working mothers hate your children, don’t you?
Me: I was saying today in the office that I was 37. Our 22 year old trainee was visibly startled.
Him: I hate to say this but, you know it’s not that she thinks you don’t look it.
Me: I know, it’s just that she’s surprised that someone my age manages to get out of the house at all.
Week one is over. I took a half day today. Shortly I will be off to see the Princess perform in a concert at the end of her course on the music of the Maghreb (salaam alaikum to you too). I am particularly looking forward to hearing the number about the sleeping camel; various versions of which we have been enjoying all week. I digress. So, I put in four and a half days. And it was fine. We even went out to a friend’s birthday dinner last night. The boys both have coughs and conjunctivitis (the consequence of communal child care, I fear) but we are heartless second and third time parents and we went out anyway. It’s going ok. Bon weekend.