Thursday 25 June 2009
After 30 or so years Marks & Clerk (the Patent Attorneys I work for) relocated their Glasgow office this week from a four storey townhouse to a spangly new office block on Bothwell Street, the Aurora Building. It is terrific, we are all on the same floor and there is a shower! I can run into work, get one of my weekly doses of pain out of the way by going somewhere I have to go anyway rather than running a loop and ending up back where I started. How sad am I? I am excited about a shower! Not long ago I would of said “A shower? Why on earth would you put a shower in an office block? Are you expecting The National Union of Mudwrestlers to move in?”. But not anymore!
I planned my first run in to work for Tuesday and I planned it like a military operation; I took work clothes and a wash bag in on Monday, plotted my route and even remembered to put my office swipe card in my running shorts. It was a glorious sunny morning and a great run, pounding along the Kelvin Walkway at 7am, too early for the air rifle snipers, in the overlooking tower blocks, or the Tennents Special brigade, who line the paths on a sunny day, to be up and about. When I got in to the office I showered and came to the conclusion I would have been classed as a French military planner as I had forgotten my belt and deodorant. I spent the day pulling my trousers up and sniffing my armpits. When I did both together I looked dyskenetic.
Monday 6 July 2009
The lifts in the new office bring out the vanity in a man. Each lift has one big mirrored wall and four extremely bright spotlights, fantastic for illuminating the blemishes and the less aesthetically pleasing features of my head. The lighting has drawn my attention to the amount of ear hair I am sprouting, and, worse, once removed, how quickly it grows back. It is remarkable. We have only been here two weeks, yet on four separate occasions unsuspecting, innocent people, doing nothing worse than waiting for a lift to go home, have been met, as the doors part, with the hideous vision of a rather large Irishman hopping around, with tear-filled eyes, pulling out clumps of his ear hair. What I don’t get is why my brain thinks its OK to use up my precious and ever-dwindling stock of dopamine to send a message to my follicles saying “Right chaps, you are doing a good impression of a boiled egg, better grow another clump, and be quick about it!” but neglects to send one to my right hand along the lines of “STOP F****** SHAKING, YOU ARE SPILLING COFFEE EVERYWHERE!!!”
Thursday 13 August 2009
Running to work running to work has become a bit of a trauma in the last few days! The first catastrophe was on Monday when both of my nipples started to bleed profusely! This happened two miles from the office and I had to try and get to work without anybody seeing me. I looked as if I had been squirted with strawberry sauce by a passing ice cream van. The biggest problem came at the office as I manoeuvred myself into a lift full of people with my baseball cap spread across my chest, which was fine until I had to select my floor. To operate the lifts you require one hand to press the button and one hand to hold the lift pass in position over the reader. I managed to use my elbow to press the button without revealing my strawberry topping. My luck didn’t last however as when we got to the eighth for the office door was locked and I had to hang around the toilet until somebody else arrived.
On Thursday the problems started after I was showered. As I was dressing I discovered I had neither a pair of pants nor a belt to wear. I spent the whole day hauling my trousers up for fear of exposing myself!