Wednesday, March 28, 2007
It has been arranged for a supplier to provide us with some book approvals to look at. Unfortunately, all the places where the approvals should go are taken up with tatty piles of tatty old boxes of things that should be elsewhere. Like landfill sites and underneath car parks. So it is decided that the approvals shall go on trolleys just outside the door to my office so that once I've negotiated the boxes to get into the building and walked the labyrinth of boxes into my corner of the universe I then have to execute a series of shift-thrust-tilt manoeuvres of trolleys, boxes, chairs and desks such as to open a passage into my office long enough for me to get in before gravity takes its toll and the whole kit and caboodle retreats into its Aristotlean ideal of cats cradle impenetrability. At some stage in the near future (perhaps when the story sacks turn up) this will become impossible. Which will suit me: I'll just fuck off and leave them to it.