Work's Small Pleasures

When I have to put a call through to our other shop in Blaydon, which makes two green lights on my phone blink like eyes. I normally consider "cute" to be a swearword, but Mykos, it's so cute, I find myself exclaiming, "ickle gween lights!" when I get them.

Getting to say "Blaydon". It's almost as satisfying as saying "plumbum".

When people ask for our fax number, the last bit of which is 41018. Trips off the tongue, so it does.

Mum's calendar. A few days ago it was making sentences from words that come directly from old Norse, like glitter and vole.

Work's Annoyances

Trying to say "the Andrew Lloyd Webber Requiem" without going all Jonathan Woss.

Answer machines. I keep verbally signing my name at the end of messages and feeling like a right fuel.

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Yesterday, I was taught how to hack into our system and change all our records without anyone being able to find out. Shame I'm honest and it's essentially my company already.

I was gratified to discover yesterday that former-UKC-classmate Kitty is suffering as much from future angst / frustrated travel plans as I am. (Although obviously she has my sympathies.) I was getting all bitter there, as all my former partners in "ohhhh, what to do?" angst? were sorting their lives out at a rate of knots.

(I was also gratified - though of course sorry - to discover that Soppygit is suffering from "I fancy someone at work" related angst, because at least that's not something I'm not suffering from. Being related to about half your colleagues - "Can I speak to Mr Warnes please?" "Which one, there's four of them" - has it advantages.)