Apologies for the deterioration of this blog. I am working out my notice period which, for reasons best known to HR, has generously been cut from three months to two, following my promotion. I would love to say I’m doing quality work “at work” instead, but sadly not. In my absence, there have been a few superficial changes: Everyone has moved desks, again and there have been a few changes in the “leadership”, calling to mind deck chairs and the titanic. However, the best one is surely the email upgrade, thus enabling me to colour in my work diary and receive copious amounts of spam on gambling.
Somehow, I have managed to retain my old extension number, only the second one in ten years. Not that it’s of any great consequence, in fact, I was glad to see the back of the first one. Such was it’s similarity to the main switchboard number, that I used to get all manner of calls, including one from an unfortunately confused man in central Africa. He refused my repeated attempts to persuade him that, no, he had not reached international directory enquiries and no, I really didn’t know every Mr Smith in the country. Possibly, he was so delighted that he had actually managed to get through to anyone in England at all, as he seemed reluctant to let go of the line. The fact that it was probably costing him a small fortune and not actually getting him any closer to his goal meant nothing. In fact, now I think of it, perhaps the council should offer him a job.