Miller Time in London
Thank fuck it's Friday.
As Miller time draws even closer, I've accepted that the fourth film of sweat encompassing my body today will have to remain until replaced by the fifth. London is literally boiling today. Humidity has gone throng the roof, women's clothing has been left behind and the beer is soon to spill out onto the streets.
Played the fifth Kit Russell Cup last night, and much to my dismay I finished second.
There seems to be a pattern developing here.
Must take back the game, and I think I know how now.
Should be working, but with half an hour to go what is the point?
I don’t expect my boss to answer that question with a "you're right - fuck work let's all go home", but I am certainly not planning on asking her either.
Instead I'll kill what is now the last twenty minutes rambling, and generally doing everything but work.
Some days words become meaningless, unless they are: one, pint, Guinness, please.
Dammit, the sun is still glaring on my haggered corpus through the office skylight, how can I be concerned with writing under circumstances such as these?
Never mind, fifteen long ones to go, and then the trek home (which will no doubt involve the eleventh or twelfth film of sweat pouring from my pores). Oh well, it is summer after all, and I'd rather be sweating than freezing.
On the verge of passing out. That would be a funny end to my first month of employment here. If nothing else it would provide the office with a talking point (for about three minutes). Yawn.
It must be Miller time by now!
As Miller time draws even closer, I've accepted that the fourth film of sweat encompassing my body today will have to remain until replaced by the fifth. London is literally boiling today. Humidity has gone throng the roof, women's clothing has been left behind and the beer is soon to spill out onto the streets.
Played the fifth Kit Russell Cup last night, and much to my dismay I finished second.
There seems to be a pattern developing here.
Must take back the game, and I think I know how now.
Should be working, but with half an hour to go what is the point?
I don’t expect my boss to answer that question with a "you're right - fuck work let's all go home", but I am certainly not planning on asking her either.
Instead I'll kill what is now the last twenty minutes rambling, and generally doing everything but work.
Some days words become meaningless, unless they are: one, pint, Guinness, please.
Dammit, the sun is still glaring on my haggered corpus through the office skylight, how can I be concerned with writing under circumstances such as these?
Never mind, fifteen long ones to go, and then the trek home (which will no doubt involve the eleventh or twelfth film of sweat pouring from my pores). Oh well, it is summer after all, and I'd rather be sweating than freezing.
On the verge of passing out. That would be a funny end to my first month of employment here. If nothing else it would provide the office with a talking point (for about three minutes). Yawn.
It must be Miller time by now!
posted by tseuq at 6/17/2005 05:20:00 pm
4 Comments:
Brits, they like to complain a lot dont they especially about the weather. Almost always, the weather is a good start to some ice breaking. What I dont understand is when you're months without the sun peering out of the clouds, especially in winter the mood is a drab. But when you get the sun out during summer you complain that its too hot or too glaring etc. Common, enjoy the sun while its there! I always enjoy a walk at HYde Park when the sun is up and shinning esp in the morning.
DRA in Kuala Lumpur
Good for you. I am not British. I have no problem with the sun, in fact I plaud it for existing.
But if you are working in a office without aircon, without a watercooler and a dysfunctional fan, things suddenly lose their charm.
thanks for the comment nevertheless :)
Hey! Where are you working/writing/sweating?
On Curtain Road, Shoreditch.
The nature of my employment is neither here nor there; suffice to say I find opening a can of beans more challenging!
Because it is my first salaried job ever (and i'm 29), I am forced to approach it with a seriousness bordering on the adult. boo!
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