Standing still or moving backwards?
Today was supposed to be the day - in a D-day kind a way - that I would move into my new office. Only it wasn't.
Following a short trip to the oasis of quality products that is inStore, where I picked up a very fluffy microfleece throw (good for hiding standard, regulation issue university chairs), I finally made it into work and to my new office. Grimy, really grimy. The layer of black dust turned to inky smudginess as I dampened it with kitchen roll but half an hour later all the horizontal surfaces, and a number of the vertical ones, were looking much whiter. So I thought I'd move in.
What I'd forgotten to take into account was that my computer is locked to my desk by something that Robin calls a Kensington Laptop Padlock but that looks like a bicycle chain. Of course, when I finally decided to follow Gregor's advice a couple of weeks ago and sort the keys on my keyring into those that I need and those that I don't, the key for the Kensington lock found itself in the latter category. So it's at home, in the little drawer by the sink in the kitchen.
Why does my own stupidity strike me as so amusing? Last night, Robin called me from Edinburgh to tell me which train he was taking, and then again about 45 minutes later. But not from Glasgow. "Hi, I'm in Stirling", he told me, laughing. I think he'll be more careful about which half of the train he climbs into next time!
Following a short trip to the oasis of quality products that is inStore, where I picked up a very fluffy microfleece throw (good for hiding standard, regulation issue university chairs), I finally made it into work and to my new office. Grimy, really grimy. The layer of black dust turned to inky smudginess as I dampened it with kitchen roll but half an hour later all the horizontal surfaces, and a number of the vertical ones, were looking much whiter. So I thought I'd move in.
What I'd forgotten to take into account was that my computer is locked to my desk by something that Robin calls a Kensington Laptop Padlock but that looks like a bicycle chain. Of course, when I finally decided to follow Gregor's advice a couple of weeks ago and sort the keys on my keyring into those that I need and those that I don't, the key for the Kensington lock found itself in the latter category. So it's at home, in the little drawer by the sink in the kitchen.
Why does my own stupidity strike me as so amusing? Last night, Robin called me from Edinburgh to tell me which train he was taking, and then again about 45 minutes later. But not from Glasgow. "Hi, I'm in Stirling", he told me, laughing. I think he'll be more careful about which half of the train he climbs into next time!
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