Flying as high as a bird in the sky is my idea of nothing to do

For the past few weeks we've been having problems with the heating and air conditioning backstage in Helminthdale. Which is to say that one one has run amock and the other has gone home to live with its mother, and we're averaging temperatures just under thirty centigrade most days. Except last Thursday when it was eight degrees centigrade and none of us knew how or why. The insulating effects of the hundreds of cardboard boxes adds to the experience, as does the suspiciously musty smell from a couple of the boxes that have come home after a year long tour of the provinces' book sales. Today the atmosphere is imbued with an entirely new flavour as half a gallon of carpet glue is poured onto the floor by the lift lobby only for the workman to find that he didn't have enough carpet tiles to do that bit.