Unproductive

 Even by my own workaday standards, I’m having a ridiculously unproductive Friday.  So far it has gone like this:

 

10AM:  Arrived at my workplace somewhere in Manchester’s fashionable Westside (late start due to having to wait in for the Man from the Council to arrive in a giant catsuit to chase away the fieldmice who have taken up residence behind our kitchen cupboards).

 

10-10:30AM: Scanning emails while suspecting there is something more important I should really be doing.   Leave messages re non-urgent matters on a couple of people’s phones. 

 

1030AM:  Realise that no, there is nothing more important I should be doing.  Occupy myself with some papers in vain attempt to look busy.  Give in, and occupy myself by staring into middle distance instead.  Realise that this perhaps isn’t having desired effect of communicating purposefulness and endeavour to assembled colleagues.     

 

10:35AM:  Gradually becoming overcome by vague sense of unease, bordering on outright nausea.

 

10:40AM:  Salvation!  There is a man at reception who needs to see me with regard to an urgent although unspecified matter.  

 

10:42AM:  Man at reception dealt with.    Start to write ‘things to do’ list but am distracted by rogue idea of escaping to my ‘secret’ office somewhere else in Westside  (it officially belongs to an organization I work with, but I’m the only person who ever uses it)  and spending long lunchtime updating too-long-neglected blog.

 

10:45AM:  Commencement of battle to the death between work ethic and rogue secret-office blog-writing idea.

 

10:47AM:  On scooter, headed for ‘secret’ office.  Experience return of sense of purpose as vague but not unpleasant tingling sensation.  Stop of at Co-op for ham sandwich and bananas to fuel writing session.

 

11:00AM:  Inserting my very own key into door of deserted room,  deep within bowels of rambling Victorian terraced house longago bequeathed to municipality by merchant benefactor.  Ancient (possibly even Victorian) computer whirs into action at press of ‘on’ button.  Gaze out of non-Health-and-Safety-compliant sash windows at expansive bequeathed greenery, reveling in rare moment of stolen solitude.

 

11:15AM:  Searching for inspiration.  Decide on thoughtful post based on recent chance viewing of BBC4 retransmission of 1959 General Election Coverage.

 

12:15PM:  Retransmitted 1959 General Election Coverage proving less inspiring subject matter than it appears.  Delete first paragraph, for twelfth time, and start writing it again, with the words in a slightly different order.  It doesn’t look any better however many amusing references to Harold McMillan are crammed into it.

 

12:30PM:  Ancient (possibly Victorian) computer crashes.  Groundbreaking if amateur reflections concerning retransmitted BBC coverage of 1959 General Election (fourteenth draft) lost to future students of Post-War British Political History.    

 

1PM.  Ancient (possibly Victorian) computer crashes for third time in quick succession.  Press the ‘off’ button to put it out of its misery, while reflecting that this is perhaps the reason no-one but me uses the ‘secret’ office hidden inside the rambling Victorian terrace somewhere else in the Westside.   Get back on scooter and head back to my main workplace.

 

1:30PM  Arrive back at main workplace…. to urgent email from boss demanding communication to all key parties by first class post! 

 

1:30PM to 2:30PM:  Engaged in battle with defective printer and own defective mailmerge skills, patience, and general attitude.  

 

2:30PM:  Admit defeat in wholly one-sided battle.  Call helpful colleague in branch office with functioning printer, who agrees to take on boss’s urgent task.

 

2:45PM:  Admit defeat in working day as a whole.  Open Word document and start writing post for too-long-neglected blog.  References to Harold McMillan conspicuous by their absence.

 

…………

 

 

So there you have it.  It’s now 3:50PM, and the weekend, thankfully, is upon us.  Or just about upon us.  It turns out the office with the functioning printer doesn’t have a working franking machine so I will need to do the ‘sending out’ bit of the urgent Friday afternoon boss’s job all by myself after all.  Which is fine by me, as operation of the franking machine is my very favourite menial office task, and probably just about as complicated an objective as I seem destined to achieve on this particular Friday… and I think that is my helpful colleague I can hear coming up the stairs with a bundle of urgent letters, so I had better get this post saved and get the hell out of here.  Have a good weekend everyone, and I hope your Fridays have been a little bit more productive than mine has been so far….