Somewhere in there is humour

This floor is heaving with boxes of books; old ones, new ones, loved ones, neglected ones. Quite by chance it dawns on me that we could automate the distribution of the Book Off books by exporting the dataset to a spreadsheet, randomising the list and then batch-transferring subsets of the stock to each library. After checking out the intended proportions with Frog I did the necessary and hey presto! a week's work done in ten minutes. The stock just needs to be processed and boxed up for shipping. This gives us a fighting chance of getting shut of the stuff before Xmas.

I'm relieved at having found a solution to part of the problem, right up to the point where I mention it to Noreen. Her response is underwhelming.

"It'll still be weeks before they're finally get rid of them."

By the time we finish the conversation I'm entirely deflated. The latest in a long line of disappointments. Nearly every piece of work I've done this past few weeks has been a dead waste of time. Oh, the work's done and it works OK. It's just that there's only me worrying about any of it. It would be just the same if I didn't bother.

Noreen feels similarly about her work, which is one reason why she's so down. The remorseless torrent of thousands of might-or-might-not-count-as-work books takes its additional toll.

It's all part of working in a service where delivery takes a very poor second place to attendance.