Catch up
OK. Everyone comfortable? Shall we begin?
The week began with a visit to West London. Not the easiest of treks from my house, it involves an overground train, then an underground train, a walk, a bus and another walk.
Monday.
A glorious day. My bag was heavy, so I thought I'd leave the umbrella at home. Ha! As soon as I left the underground for my walk to the bus stop, I saw the clouds, which before were beautifully white and fluffy, were now lead grey. And lower in the sky. Much lower.
I got to the bus stop. There was no shelter, so I had to stand in the drizzle. After an eternity, the bus arrived and I got on with all the other miserable and wet people who had been waiting.
I got a seat. That is unusual, to be honest, so I wondered why.
Not chewing gum on the seat. Not unidentified gunge. Not a broken seat.
The reason the seat was empty was the man sat next to it. He looked fine. He wasn't obviously mad (a particular hazard on London transport).
His problem was of an odiferous nature. The man smelt like a bag of rotten potatoes. I know the smell of rotting potatoes, as the Baron likes to move any bags out of his way and so puts them on top of the fridge. I am five foot two, so I am not likely to see them unless I happen to be on stilts, and I only realise
a) when we have run out of potatoes and it is a mashed potato emergency
or
b) I can smell them.
So the stench enveloped me. Being a polite Brit, I try not to say anything. It might not be his fault. Then nausea overcomes me and I cough. And stand up near the exit, in case the reek embeds itself in my skin.
The man stares straight ahead, oblivious.
I arrive at my destination, wet and smelling slightly of potatoes.
I sign in and wait for the receptionist. I tell her I am here to see Mr Liar Liar Pants on Fire in Finance. Ok, maybe that isn't his real name, but it ought to be.
This review was booked months ago. After an ill-fated visit where he told me there was nowhere to sit in the office and so I should rebook. I had an empty diary and allowed him to pick the most convenient day for him. And so it was noted. In my diary, in his diary, and in my pissed off managers diary.
Mr Liar Liar Pants on Fire has buggered off on holiday. When I retrieved my jaw from the floor, I asked to be taken to the department to speak to someone.
Twenty minutes later someone finally comes over to take me through security (no-one wants to mess with pissed off tenants, and I am beginning to understand why they need such stringent security. I want to hurt people - after the last debacle I had called ahead to confirm - that morning - and no-one thought to tell me of the change in plans).
No-one is willing to help me or tell me anything. So I write an extremely snarky note and inform them I will be back tomorrow when Mr Liar Liar Pants on Fire returns. This is agreed, and I wend my way home.
The Parcel Force Man has been and gone, leaving me a little card saying I should go to the post office to retrieve my parcel. Great. It is pension collection day and the old folk do so like to make a whole day of it, catching up in the post office queue. Fab.
But it is my new PDA and I WANT IT NOW! Even auditors can act like Veruca Salt when necessary.
So to the post office I away. There is nowhere to pack, so I block a car in and head off. The only people likely to park there are going to be in the post office, and since I WANT IT NOW! I don't give a flying fuck anyway.
The queue is stretching out the door. Old people for as far as I can see. One man my age stands behind me for ten minutes and then stomps out, muttering about old people today.
I start twitching. I haven't had a great day, and I need a shower. Fortunately the potato smell isn't so noticeable, as one of the people in the queue reeks of urine. A woman of about ninety behind me starts complaining that pensioners have all day to go in so why do they choose lunchtime? I try to keep a straight face and sympathise. I WANT IT NOW! so I will endure.
Almost an hour later I get my parcel. Woohoo! I get to the car to find the car I blocked in was gone, and yet not a mark on mine. Magic? Who cares! I have a PDA!
I race home, shedding packaging as I run into the house. Tearing off the final layers I can hardly wait. I have been looking forward to this for so long.
Guess what? I bet you have. No fucking PDA. It was some books that weren't due for another few days.
Monday's score. Five hours of travel. No work done. No PDA. Serious nasal assault. One seriously pissed off person.
Tuesday
Tuesday dawns. The sun is shining. I pack my umbrella. No PDA is delivered, but Amazon promises, cross its heart and hopes to die that it will be there tomorrow.
I am optimistic that today I will get lots done. I will kick auditing bottom.
I take the train. Uneventful. The Tube. Boring and hot. Walk. No rain and I pick up a yummy sandwich from my favourite shop - I am in that good a mood.
The bus. Well, it was nearly empty. I got a seat and stared out the window, mentally planning my days work, without the assistance of my PDA.
We got a couple of stops down the road, and a young man gets on. Looks normal, but I am used to public transport and so stare straight ahead and chant in my head
"sit somewhere else, sit somewhere else, sit somewhere else, not next to me.".
And he did. But it didn't make a difference.
I clean littertrays on a regular basis. Five cats produce a lot of pee. It isn't a pleasant job, but it has to be done. And when he sat down behind me and my eyes started watering, I wished I had a nice cat littertray to sink my nose into.
His feet were the worst smelling I have ever had the misfortune to smell. My eyes are watering now even thinking about it.
This wasn't a case for politeness. This was a get the hell up and off that bus as soon as possible situation.
I walked the rest of the way, rejoicing in the comparatively sweet polluted Ealing air.
Mr Liar Liar Pants on Fire had returned from his holiday.
But had scheduled meetings all day. He took five minutes out of his busy day to thank me for coming back, but could I please reschedule as it wouldn't be possible to conduct the review after all.
AAARRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
So after telling him I would still be charging for all my wasted time, and that I would not be coming back ever, I left. In a film, I would have been walking down Ealing Broadway into the sunset, discarding my laptop, files, calculators etc to the wind. Since it was reality, I flounced out, tripped over the cobbles outside, and landed on my arse outside Blockbuster Videos.
No smelly people on the way home. Just a typical man who felt the need to sit with his legs open as wide as possible. Encroaching on my seat space, and then hogging the armrest. I smacked his leg with my laptop, shoved his arm off my armrest, reclaimed my space and glared at him until Liverpool Street.
I got home to find that the litter tray needed cleaning.
After a cup of tea and a biscuit, I decide to tackle a report. All well and good. Then Charlie sat on my file. I tried to move him. The little bastard spat at me. I tried again. He bit me. I booted the little git outside with the others and decided that another cup of tea would be a good idea.
I went to retrieve the cats. Four cats sat on the roof of my car. Only one cat was one of my collection. Bizarre, but it explains the cat paw print in the mud decoration I sport. Ellie was chewing my aerial, which is probably why it doesn't work anymore. I grabbed her, and pulled her down. And my aerial, which was still in her mouth. She went in.
Charlie was sleeping in an empty cement mixer in the sun. He doesn't bear grudges with me, so he waddled over and headbutted my bitten hand. He went in as soon as he could smell food.
Frankie was under the car playing with a spider. He goes in when you tell him to. He took his new playmate with him. I believe Ellie ate it later that evening.
Harvey. Harvey. My troublemaker. I called, and called him. No response. I rattled his biscuits. Nada. Twenty minutes later, I went in. I discovered Harvey fast asleep in a towel on the bathroom floor.
Tuesdays score. Four and a half hours travel. No work done. GBH committed against my nose. No PDA. Bite marks in my hand. Criminally deranged person.
Wednesday.
I stayed home.
At 7.30AM my PDA finally arrived. I spent Wednesday setting it up and syncing it with the desktop and the laptop. Oh, and trying to keep the Baron's sticky mitts off my new toy!
Wednesdays score. No travel. No work. PDA!!!!!!! Happy person!
posted by DMouse007 @ 9/16/2004 01:14:00 PM
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