Blogorrhea!

I wandered into work today at 10am, much later than usual, because I simply couldn't have been arsed getting up earlier. What I gained in sleep this morning was negated by the annoyance I suffered within two minutes of hanging up my coat.

"Govstooge", said the HEO bounding over to me.
Oh Jaysus, I think.
"What is the ETA on the current project you are working on? Remember to touch base with me if you've any problems... are you OK?"
"Yeah, my stomach just sort of...flipped when you said 'touch base'."
"Oh right. Well, usually some antacids help with that. Get some in case you need them going forward."
I look balefully at the departing figure of the HEO.
"Bleargh!" is my only response.

Two minutes later, my extension rings. I manage to resist the temptation to retch following my manager's management speak.

It is a colleague in another Department.

"Govstooge, can you do something for me?"
"Sure, Morticia. What is it?"
"Well, you know that issue your unit are working on with us?"
"Yeah...sort of. Actually, my HEO deals with that rather than me. Will I put you on...?"
"NO!!!!!!!!!!"
"Oh, right. That was emphatic."
"Sorry, Govstooge. But if I asked your HEO I would be on the phone for two hours and still be none the wiser. All the management speak you see."
"Ah, yes. The old logorrhea, or verbal diahorrea, if you will."
"Anyway, can you pass on this question? Just a quick one. And tell your HEO to contact me by email. Say one of my ears has fallen off due to leprosy or that I've got a terrible fear of curly wires and I can't use the phone."
"Right. Go ahead..."

The things I do for my colleagues. Risking being in the firing line of more management speak so that others may get on with their daily tasks. There should be an award for us unsung civil service heroes.

Even if it was just a shiny new paperclip or something.

The Uncivil Unseen PMDS

Ok, now that no-one's going to see my interim review reports this year, I might as well have some fun with them.

Edited highlights as follows:

The Unseen PMDS reports

CO No. 1

Manager’s Comment on Overall Performance

What can I say? Simply super. If there was such a thing as the Golden Clerical Officer Award, this person would win hands down. A shining example to all COs.

What (if any) improvements in performance are needed?

Try not to put so many raisins in the cakes you bake. They give me the squits.

CO No. 2

Manager’s Comment on Overall Performance

Average. Overall organisational skills poor.

What (if any) improvements in performance are needed?

For god’s sake, can’t you just take half an hour out and clean your fucking desk? There is a limit to the number of flies and dead mice we can tolerate in a workplace. How the fuck do you even find anything? How do I even know you’re at work behind all that lot?

CO No. 3

Manager’s Comment on Overall Performance

Adequate. Very pleasant demeanour among colleagues and members of the public alike.

What (if any) improvements in performance are needed?

Co-operation with management would be appreciated. Don’t you think the voodoo doll of me under your keyboard is unnecessary? Ouch.

CO No. 4

Manager’s Comment on Overall Performance

Completely useless. If I had my way I would give you your P45, rip your arms off and beat you to death with the wet end and leave your remains to the mercy of the starving feral cats behind the canteen. I have to check up on you more times a day than a middle-aged man with prostatic hypertrophy has to go to the toilet.

What (if any) improvements in performance are needed?

Actually doing something would help. Curbing the number of times you phone friends from work and access your Bebo page (how old are you?!?) is a start. Also, not standing around in the corridors with other slackers bitching about your manager is recommended. I will assist you in all of these by ripping the comms cables out of your PC and phone and tying you to the chair with them.

CO No. 5

Manager’s Comment on Overall Performance

Unsure. Employee is frequently out sick.

What (if any) improvements in performance are needed?

At least TRY to remember what your job is. Having to conduct on the job training, induction and introductions every time you’re in work is tiresome for me and has an impact on my own workload.

CO No. 6

Manager’s Comment on Overall Performance

Good but very tentative about coming forward with problems.

What (if any) improvements in performance are needed?

Try not to be so scared of me. I don’t bite. Except on Mondays.

Soul Food

Well, here we are again, the exhilarating start of yet another exhilarating week in the bowels of a dusty Government office.

Thankfully, I have many interests outside of work. Outdoor pursuits like hiking and cycling, writing this stuff, attempting to resurrect two unfinished novels and endeavouring to delight my palate and those of my occasional dinner guests with delectable and spicy Indian goodness. And not always succeeding. Well, that's part of the fun, I find.

I love to talk about food with my like-minded colleagues. We share tips and tricks and meal suggestions.

Today, I engaged in a discussion with a colleague about what to do with leftover star anises which sometimes find their way to the back of the cupboard and get forgotten about. (That's ANISES, not ANUSES! Although Anuses are sometimes referred to as Chocolate Starfish.) I got a tip to try boiling one with rice and turmeric. Hmm. I will try that later in the week. With a star anise. Not an anus. I don't particularly want my rice to taste of boiled anus. Blehh.

A nosey colleague happened to enter the office just as we were discussing this, and wandered over to listen to the conversation. When it finished she inhaled deeply and blurted:

Nosey: Wow, you're quite the cook, Govstooge? Aren't you?
Govstooge: I try.
Nosey: Is it just Indian stuff you do?
Govstooge: No. I try everything. But Indian's my favourite.
Nosey: Wow. You should be a chef!
Govstooge (Thinks: Umm. Is somebody looking to wangle an invite to one of my curry nights? Just so she can have a look round my house? Well, I'm fucked if that's going to happen, so...) No, Antigone. I couldn't possibly be a chef.
Nosey: Why not?
Govstooge: Because the doctors told me I can't work with knives. You see I have this uncontrollable urge to cut. Others who stand so close to me, usually. Like you're doing now.
Nosey: (Running away) Waah!
Govstooge: But I don't have a knife now! Just this pointy letter opener....

I'm sure my readers of the psychiatric profession are now consulting their Diagnostic and Statistical Manuals. But really, it's a defence mechanism against intrusiveness. I hope our Personnel Department feel the same way.

Anyway, tonight's Tarka Dhal was rather nice indeed. I didn't even burn it or anything!

Levy Blues and Amateur Cardiology

Today, the Pensions Levy manifested itself in its virulent form by launching scathing attacks on our payslips. The air was full of the voices of staff comparing the damages. I'm not sure why, but my take home pay isn't decimated to the extent of those of some of my colleagues. Maybe Payroll made a mistake and I will have to spend the rest of my life paying it back. Ulp. But calculating it manually, it makes sense. Lucky me!

I have a horrible feeling that in spite of industrial action, the levy is here to stay, and this is only the beginning. The likelihood of raised taxes for those us fortunate enough to still have jobs is rearing its ugly head. And maybe redundancies down the line. Who knows? The sheer magnitude of this country's financial mismanagement is growing by the day. I've started to resist watching the news and its nightly doomsaying of RTE's resident Apocalypse Forecaster, George Lee. I can't take it anymore. I might succumb to some terrible cardiovascular condition if I watch another five minutes. Even the weather forecast now reads like the Simpsons by comparison.

Speaking of cardiovascular conditions, this site has lifted one of my posts from about three months ago. And tagged it "Heart Disease, Signs, Symptoms".

Well, thank you, Doctor MacFUCK! Now the last time I looked, my laptop did not have a USB attachment for taking blood pressure and ECG readings in order to transmit them over the web. I imagine such a device would be useful, but I have enough leads coming out of my computer already, thank you very much. But your remote diagnosis is greatly appreciated. What treatment do you suggest, "Doc"? Virtual beta-blockers? Licking JPEG images of foxgloves so that I may benefit from the digital digitalis therein?

The failed academic/ author in me is somewhat flattered by the citation which turned up during a random search for sites linking/ referring to me (I'm bored tonight). However it doesn't cite the source. Which, according to any text on academic biblographies, may be construed as Plagiarism. I'm aware that writing material on the Web and having it openly accessible leaves one wide open to such abuses. Mind you, given that McFuck didn't even attempt to remove the "Govstooge" references from the body text suggests nothing more than a simple copy and paste exercise. That's an instant fail as far as my previous experience will attest. Knobjockey.

Think I need to lie down now. Where's my angina spray when I need it?

Double Standards

One rule for them and one rule for the rest of us, or "Do as I say and not as I do". It occurs in all walks of life, whether in school, home, private sector, civil service etc.

Today's incident, however, took the fucking biscuit. It was both flagrant and egregious.

Picture the scene. A meeting for the whole section in a conference room, which the HEO has convened. The COs are rolling their eyes in boredom and looking at the malfunctioning clock hanging lopsided on the wall. One CO is visibly drooling. Another may have died. The EOs are sitting with their arms folded, resolutely avoiding eye contact with the HEO who might just ask them if they would like to add something to what was just said. One particular EO just wants to get the hell out of there and find the coffee machine. (Can you tell who it is yet?)

Suddenly, a strange buzzing sound. What could that be? Is it a fire drill? Ah, no, it can't be. They only do fire drills on nice sunny days so people don't get wet waiting to go back inside. We can't have people going on sickies claiming they caught a chill.

There is a scuffle of activity from the head of the table. The HEO leaps from their seat, mobile phone in hand (for yes, that is the source of the buzzing), and sprints to the door. The rest of the attendees glance around at each other with expressions of bemusement. There is silence as we try to determine the nature of the boss's conversation from what we can hear through the door.

Some minutes pass, and the HEO re-appears with a sheepish expression and says: "Errr.... sorry about that. I had to take that call."

The meeting breaks up shortly afterwards. The main item on the agenda - i.e. "Inappropriate Use of Mobile Phones During Office Hours" didn't go down too well.

Has to be up there as the most pointless bloody meeting ever.

The Fantastic Foaming Mouth Functionary

I'm going through a rather busy period at work of late and haven't been attending to writing as much as I would like to; I just want to turn my brain off in the evenings and watch my Scrubs boxsets before trudging upstairs to bed and entering a comatose state for several hours.

I've been doing more hours than the 6.57 that is required of me daily ( Yes, my flexitime balance is incredibly healthy, and I'm praying for a chance to use the day off). The work just keeps on coming and I have to stay on top of it, because the clerical officers will have fuck all to do when I pass the boring bits onto them. And, on top of all that, I have a big deadline looming. If program files on my C: drive were actual physical entities, then Arse Race.exe would have six inches of nasty Government dust and other detritus on it.

Well, it's better than no job at all. That's what keeps me motivated to go in every day. I've spent some time signing on at the dole office and actually taking recruitment "consultants" seriously. At one stage I was even been tempted to work at a call centre with a bad reputation, for minimum wage, just to get off the dole queue. (It was when I realised at the interview that bonuses were paid in pizza that I said "G'luck, I'm off to sign on" and turned to the door.)

That's also what motivates me to do my job well, or at least, to the best of my ability. I put my head down and try to see the task through to its conclusion. Apart from the swearing, mood swings and threatening to rip the arms off clerical officers and beat them to death with the wet end, I like to think I set a good example. Especially when I'm busy as I get my head down and render myself oblivious to what's going on around me. Not an easy task given the open plan layout and the volume of shite-talk from all corners. I don't deal with interruptions too well.

I don't deal very well with being assigned additional tasks when I'm clearly under pressure either. For instance:

Boss: Err... Govstooge?
Me: Whu... what??
Boss: Could you do something with this? (Hands me a file)
Me: Whatever. Add it to the pile, I'll get round to it some time this century.
Boss: Well, it's just that I'd like something on it this evening.
Me: (Gesticulating at the piles of paper in front of me) Maybe it's best to get someone else to do it. I'm up the walls here. Hey! You know what would be really quick?
Boss: What?
Me: If you did it yourself?

Seriously, I don't advocate talking to superior officers in that fashion as a matter of course. But when you KNOW that the boss has been on the phone to their partner or their mother all morning, or trying to get on the Joe Duffy show to whinge about medical cards or surfing the internet and using Alt_Tab not quite quickly enough for you not to see the EBay page open when you go to their desk with something - when you've been working your hole off, it brings out a vicious streak. On certain days it's as close to apoplexy as a healthy young person such as myself is likely to get.

When my deadline is up, and it will be soon (and yes, I'm on track), I'm going to rest on my laurels for ooh, I don't know, a couple of days, take some flexi time off and get a headstart on Christmas shopping so I can beat the rush and avoid further stress.

No, I won't do the shopping online at work. I've more principles than that (sniffs haughtily). Besides, a few of the clerical officers can see my monitor. Ordering Nazi memorabilia for Uncle Joe within their line of sight may not be big or clever.

Letter to the Facilities Management Unit.

Dear Facilities Management,

I realise you have enough to do what with ensuring a steady supply of stationery, that people don't park their cars in the foyer on wet days because they don't want to get their clothes wet, that some of the stranger employees don't use the bins in the ladies' toilets as headgear, but I hope that you will at least give my request a little consideration.

I am at my wits' end. You may have seen me tearing my hair out at my desk as you went about your building inspection. You might even have heard the plaintive whines from all corners, surrounded as I am by several clerical officers:

"Govstooge, can I have tomorrow off?"
"Govstooge, can I have yesterday off?"
"Govstooge, this form's not filled in right. Can you fix it?"
"Govstooge, can you ask the HEO for me about.... (insert anything you like here)?"
"Govstooge, I forgot my password."
"Govstooge, I think I broke Microsoft Excel (this from the HEO)."
"Govstooge, there's a splinter in my desk."
"Why is the sky blue, Govstooge?"

Jesus. How do you expect me to work in these conditions? I have a lot of important EO-stuff to be getting on with.

I am making an official request to have a soundproof perspex shield around my desk. With a sliding window for me to shout at people out of. Preferably with a megaphone. (Please supply this also.) If the window could be spring loaded that would be a big help because anyone attempting to open it could lose a finger and frankly, I need a laugh when I'm on duty. This I feel will increase my productivity as people will stop bothering me and go somewhere else with their silly problems.

If this is not possible, could I have my own office? I know there is a vacancy down the corridor. I believe its former occupant met with a sudden and tragic accident in the vicinity of Ballyfuck recently.

I await your reply in earnest.

Yours sincerely,

Govstooge
Executive Officer
Noise Pollution and Pestilence Section

Greening the Office

As part of the Office of Public Works' laudable initiative to reduce carbon emissions by 15% in all of the buildings they operate, our Department is building awareness on green issues and doing their bit.

Which is great, as I adopt similar practices in my own home (turning off standby lights, only heating the water I need, recycling shitloads of stuff). Why not at work too?

One thing I'm not so enthusiastic about, though is someone's idea to turn off the printers and photocopiers on our floor at 5pm. I didn't even know they were doing this until I went to print an important document for a meeting tomorrow morning and when I walked the length of the vast corridor to retrieve it I discovered that the printer wasn't even on.

For feck's sake. We may be civil servants but some of us don't feck off at 4 every single day you know. Switching it back on wasn't an option as it takes a bloody age to "warm up".

I'd turn it off if I was working late... promise....

Queuing for a Loving

I fucking hate queuing for anything. I can just about tolerate the queue in the canteen at work (yes, for we executives must mingle with the hoi polloi of the COs and senior managers). Queues make me tap my feet, roll my eyes and murmur expletives. My genteel and polite upbringing dictates, however, that I accept my place in the queue and await my turn.

I was in an airport check-in queue earlier. These generally move quickly unless they are Ryanair queues where some passengers are overweight (baggage, that is - how long before they start weighing US as well as our luggage). This queue moved nice and quickly and I didn't adopt any Tourette's symptoms while waiting.

Then...

SLUUUUUUUUUUURP!

Dear Christ, what the fuck was that?

And again:

SHLOOOOOOOK!

Jesus! It's the Day of the Triffids! They're coming to get me!

SMAAAAAAACK!

Fuck!

I rotated my head gingerly (No, I'm not ginger. I was merely suggesting an exercise of caution in my movements). I expected to see part of the Scottish bog that tried to eat my foot earlier in the week waiting in line behind me to great me with a cheery "Hello again" as I turned around. Or maybe a giant alien plant with a pair of legs protruding from its mouth-like aperture.

No such luck.

Behind me was one of those fucking smug couples who can't stop kissing or feeling each other up in public. The noises I had been hearing were the result of their hoovering each other's faces with their mouths. Even the stupid fucking twat at work who can't eat with his mouth closed makes less noise.

Now there is nothing more natural than the expression of love between two people. Except, when you turn around, and they see that you've noticed them, they get worse. Plus, being bereft of male company with whose help I could retaliate with counter strikes of slurping, I had no option than to dig out my iPod and turn Cannibal Corpse up really, really loud (Song of choice? I Will Kill You, of course).

There should be a law against it. Or at least, some new travel protocol. I am going to write to Michael O'Leary to see if he would consider introducing another silly additional charge on this type of behaviour in airport queues. Well, he has the Priority Boarding Queue, what about the "Love-struck soppy couple" queue? Other airlines will then follow suit and the whole unpleasant business would be over and done with.

The Mile High club is another matter entirely, which I haven't given a great deal of thought to because I prefer to wee in the airport before boarding instead of wrestling with toilet roll, underwear and flimsy doors in an airborne loo. Let them have their fun. They might even get wedged in there together and give the rest of us some inflight entertainment.

The Bore War

It has recently become a daily pastime for me and a colleague to see who will get caught for the longest with workplace bores. I usually win, because I use my iPod in the office as a defensive strategy, particularly when I'm busy (yes, that's right, busy) and don't want to be interrupted.

The office bore is a generally pleasant chap who can hold highly opinionated lectures about the relative merits of one national road over another, why MDF is better than chipboard or OSB, what angle should the windows be opened at for optimum ventilation of the office, and Wavin pipes. The lectures are usually punctuated with the occasional "Okay?" to make sure he still has the attention of his audience. I have learnt to never, NEVER let my eyes meet his as he walks into the room, otherwise I am a prime target for his next talk.

A new colleague is still perfecting her evasive technique, and so is the current favoured target. I couldn't keep a straight face today as she was on the receiving end of a five-minute description of some curtains. "Ha ha", I sent in an email as the lecture drew to its conclusion.

Later today, however, I lost the battle.

I received a phone call from a colleague in another office who is notorious, not for being boring, but for taking a quarter of an hour to get her point across when five minutes would suffice. I had already answered the phone before I looked at its incoming number display. The conversation lasted ten minutes, and could easily have taken two. I knew I was losing when my interjections of "Great, I'll sort that out for you and I'll have the forms to you early next week" went unheeded and the time online crept towards double digits.

A pop-up window on my computer screen caught my attention: "You have new mail".

"Double ha ha", it said. (Wouldn't that be "ha ha ha ha"?)

Feck.

I can't stand losing.

Random annoyances

In the last few days, I've come across a few random annoyances (no, not Russia winning the Eurovision, well done to them; I imagine Moscow will really turn on the blingski for next year) and I want to write about them here:

Random annoyance no. 1 :
A CO colleague from a neighbouring section came to visit me the other day in order to ask me something. She pulled up an adjacent (and vacant - thank fuck!) chair and made herself all nice and cosy beside me. The exchange went something like this:

Colleague: So, Govstooge, why is your section carrying out this work when our section is also doing it?
Govstooge: Because there has to be a certain amount of overlap before your lot take it on fully to minimise error. Then we divest ourselves of it and your section takes it over permanently.
Colleague: But Govstooge, that's a lot of duplication for both of our areas. And Govstooge... (ad infinitum).
Govstooge: I'm sorry, I don't make the decisions. (Name of senior manager) does.
Govstooge (thinks): For fuck's sake, if you'd taken the time to look up my job title on the staff list you'd see that I'm just an EO. Yes, I know the 'E' stands for 'Executive' but my executive powers are minimal, if not non-existent. I might make more money than you, but not much more, I can guarantee you that. And stop using my fucking name every two seconds. Jesus, that drives me mental!

Yes, I actually do know my own name. I've had it for over thirty years and can now spell it properly and write most of the letters the correct way around on a form. I don't need someone cosying up to me and reminding me of it. Piss off.

Random annoyance no 2:
Having a pint down my (new) local in the afternoon with my dad, who is visiting me, at the weekend. The local is very old-fashioned and is therefore a very nice place to enjoy a few quiet pints. I like it, and I can walk down there and stagger home. There is an old geezer welded to the bar, whom my dad recognises from previous visits to the pub when I have not been with him.

Old Geezer: Oh, hello it's yourself! You're the fella whose daughter bought a house down the street! (points to me) Is that the daughter?
Dad: Yes.
Me (thinks): I fucking hope this doesn't turn out to be some sort of prelude to an arranged marriage. Better suck down this pint bottle of Bulmers fast.
Old Geezer: What number did she buy?
Me (rather aggressively): SHE bought Number 10! (Not my real house number - I didn't want uninvited guests turning up on my doorstep at closing time.)
At which point the old geezer realises that SHE is present in the room and begins addressing me directly, good Jaysus. Normal conversation (including a discussion about pieces of the True Cross - which may well turn out to be the leg of an old table - in existence in Ireland) ensues. A good day was had by all in the end, but, for feck's sake, please do not repeatedly refer to me in the third person when I'm in the room, or I'll feckin' stab you. And I've lived in Limerick.

What's wrong with me at all? I can't take too much of a proper noun, and I can't abide the misuse of pronouns. Is there a middle ground?

(Answers on a postcard to SHE who Must be Obeyed c/o The Pub, Main Street, Ballyfuck.)

Boo Shit

Well, I got hammered last night, went to work hung over - from which it took me most of my working day to recover. Ok, it was a silly thing to do, but I had a laugh and it helped me forget yesterday's role profile meeting with the malignant knobjockey CO.

So I'm now back on form to deal with the voluminous clouds of shit that are coming my way in the next few weeks. Getting time off in the coming weeks will be difficult. Unless, of course, you are a parent. Having a sprogling comes in handy - sometimes. I am not a parent (the very idea of someone as feckless as me being in charge of another person... heyyy... wait a minute!) so I and the other sprogless wonders will be manning the place while the majority take time off for the mid term break. I will have to resort to one of my remaining uncertified sick days if I decide I need a break.

The curse of the "family friendly" workplace. Maybe I should campaign through my union for something similar for people in my situation. Something like "Hangover nursing day" or "Burnt out EO day" or maybe even "Had a curry last night I fear an exploding rectum" day.

Well, I have seen more ridiculous ideas already in place. Anything is possible in the civil service. You might be retired or dead by the time anything happens though.
----------------
Now playing: HANDEL - Air
via FoxyTunes

Stinky

I arrived home this evening to find the road outside my house being excavated by big hairy men in hard hats (A pleasant enough sight in different circumstances.). Something to do with the mains water supply, apparently.

Well, fuck it anyway. I am sitting here completely surrounded by no water. I fucking ming as a lot of my work today involved running around trying to resolve a load of issues and I worked up a bit of a sweat. Now I can't even wash the fucking stuff off.

So I have to wait until tomorrow to grab one at work, meaning I'll be wandering around the Department with a towel around my head and brushing my teeth. Maybe I'll tell everyone I'm now a Sikh.

Or, if I decide I can't wait that long, I'll turn up on a friend's doorstep in a bathrobe.

No fucking water. I can't even flush the jacks.

Jesus, I mean, there's enough of the fucking stuff falling from the sky these days.

What to do with all these extra minions?

Having a think today about what the hell am I going to do with all these extra clerical staff I'm getting soon. I don't even know much about their work, even though they're all in the same section (yes! for this is the civil service!). I'll have to learn, and I bet it's fucking boring. I should make it fun while I'm learning, at least for myself.

I could:

1. Take them all into a room, leave and lock the door, come back in 5 days and whichever one comes out alive gets to make my coffee. Extra PMDS grade if they have eaten one or more of the others. Less for me to supervise. Bwahahahahahaha!
   
2. Send them on crazy errands around the place. Make them get me things like cups of dust from the canteen (easy enough), bottled poo smell from the toilets, a glass hammer from Woodies DIY, grind some beans and make my coffee, completely random and pointless stuff like that. It doesn't differ too radically from the nature of a civil service job anyhow, it's all bloody pointless.
   
3. Make them all address me as "Evil Overlord". Hey, it's EO for short, too! The creator of the most innovative and sycophantic alternative to this acronym gets to make my coffee.
   
4. Make them take it in turns to collect me at my house in the morning and bring me to work, and home again in the evenings. Even if they live in the opposite end of the county. I don't care. As long as I'm not the one driving the car in gridlock. Then they can make my coffee.
   
5. Build a "tent" in the office using forms and sellotape and some rulers. Then make them all live in it for a fortnight, "I'm a Civil Servant, get me out of here" style. They will have to eat things like staples, forms and big cakes. They can use Untidy Guy's desk as a toilet (it won't look any worse). Every night other people get to vote on who stays and who goes. The winner gets to make my coffee.

That's it. I'm bored now.

Govstooge - putting the PERV in "supervisor".

Shut the fuck up!

As a former employee of a sales office in the private sector (less forms, but with a permanently-on-the-rag nazi for a manager), I continue to be surprised by the things that people in our office get away with during work hours.

Strange things, like lunatic dancing in the aisles while wearing various items of stationery for decoration, pretending to hide in the artificial plants and jumping out at people from behind them, spending 50 minutes for tea in the canteen... ooh wait, I'm guilty of that one. But you know what I mean, silly things that wouldn't be tolerated by private sector companies.

What bafffles me, however, are the constant personal phone calls by some clerical officers (Not mine, so I can't pull them up... bah!) during work hours. Some of these calls are made to their houses which are pretty close by... to check whether the washing machine is on the spin cycle yet, to talk to the DOG, to shout (yes, shout) abuse at their husbands. Others ring their teenage children at school, to see if they ate their lunch yet, did they enjoy it, what their teacher (who is probably standing at the front of the classroom, fuming) is wearing, what do they want for dinner when they go home, etc. Other personal calls include ringing Revenue on behalf of grown-up children sorting out their tax credits and enquiring about items for sale in the local rag.

And these people are LOUD. PPS numbers, credit card numbers, recipes, shopping lists, the carryover of last night's argument, all circulating over the general hum of the office. I know more intimate details about their lives than I do about some of my own family or friends.

I don't care about the cost - either fiscal or in terms of productivity - to the office of all these phone calls. But I do care about having to listen to the details of Rover's impacted anal glands while I sip my morning coffee at my desk. I have already destroyed several forms due to involuntarily spitting coffee all over them on hearing the latest instalment in the "my husband is impotent" saga.

Short of compiling a new telephone usage policy for the office, which would be time consuming, boring and no-one would read or pay attention to it, maybe a volume control device installed on these people would help? I am thinking, of course, of a large tennis ball shoved into their mouths. Simple and cost effective.

It might cause drooling on the forms, though.

Oooh Sheeet!

Just realised... it's fuckin' December! And not a scrap of Christmas shopping done!! Many of my friends and family are already done with theirs, and I have yet to start!

Every year I do this, despite the subtle reminders all around me for the past two months. A hardware shop close to where I live has had their front festooned in Christmas tat since October 9th!

To compound matters, I utterly detest town centres in the approach to Christmas, all that queueing and elbowing and trying to find the last parking space in the multi storey - when I only went in there in the first place because the sign outside said "Spaces" and when I am in, there are several fucking jeeps taking up three spaces each. Grrr! It makes me wonder why I left the house without some Semtex and an Uzi. It was much simpler when the fat bloke in the red suit did all the hard work.

So now, I have to order everything online, and pray that it arrives on time. Alternatively I can browse the shopping centre and retail park adjacent to the Department while on my lunch break, when they aren't too mobbed with people doing a fairly convincing impression of the zombies in Dawn of the Dead.

Bah humbug!!