Recess is upon us once more like a spotty, infatuated intern who doesn’t understand the meaning behind “Get off me and get back in your corner!”
This is meant to be a time of relaxation, contemplation and mid-afternoon tipples. Of course when you roll in at 10am to find the boss sitting at his desk, unshaven and moaning about coffee stains on his shirt then it's just another work day.
“Felicity, be a dear and take this thing to PICT and get it fixed. Oh and grab me a pastry from the Dispatch Box?” Thirty minutes I spent in the Member’s Centre waiting for a chap from PICT to fix that bloody blackberry. It keeps breaking and the next time it happens I’ll just stamp a stilleto heel through the screen and request a replacement. I may not be able to get away with the destruction of a printer but a blackberry? Just watch me.
Frank Field MP is in my bad books today. There I was looking forward to buying whatever the heck passes for food in the Terrace Cafeteria and I suddenly find myself stuck behind a dozen people (mostly children) queuing up. Frank was handing out trays and completely oblivious to my hungry desperation. With my stomach growling, I left and went for a cig instead. That’s your fault Frank, I want you to know that.
It’s before 6pm and the boss has gone home. Oh screw it, I’m going home as well. I think a long bath and a bottle of wine is in order while I read some Clark. Just to confirm for my dear readers: Alan Clark.
You didn’t think I would be reading anything of Ken’s now did you?
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