I've Measured Out my Life in Teaspoons

Having been awake since 4am, and with lines from Prufrock running inexplicably through my head, I finally decided enough was enough and got up, having measured out my life in coffee spoons and objecting to this on the grounds of being a tea drinker. And so I'm up, trying to think of something mildly diverting to write about, and largely failing. Note to self - must cultivate some Australian friends: I feel the time difference might be beneficial, if only from a Facebook Chat point of view.

Or I could have a bit of a rant about Estates.

Now, our Estates department have their uses. They did, after all, come down pretty quickly to mend the kitchen door handle after my colleague got stuck in there, having only popped in to boil the kettle. At the same time, though, and I fear like most institutions, they do love their "systems".

Take the other week, for example. We came in to find our sink in the hideous alcove we call our shared "kitchen", blocked and filled with brown water (washing up debris, rather than anything more exciting...I hope...) A couple of hours later someone from Estates pootled downstairs (and I can't think of a better verb to describe their way of going round the building.) He sort of lolled in my doorway, taking "laid back" to a whole new level (he looks a bit like Jaspar Carrot under the influence of magic mushrooms, and the thought of him teetering on a ladder tryig to mend a light fighting makes me rather nervous) and said "We heard your sink's blocked".

"Oh. Yes. It was blocked when we came in. Can you have a look at it?"

"No, you need to phone the Helpdesk, they'll give you a job reference number, and I'll come back."

"Can't you look at it now?"

"No."

I phoned the Heldesk, and they did indeed give me a job reference number, and, true to his word, he came back. Ten minutes later. Efficiency?

And then, to give my week that bit of variety it so desperately craves, I got in to find a sort of mini waterfall happily pouring through my ceiling. The floor was soaked for a couple of feet either side of the "drip", as Estates called it in their "reference", and the room had that sort of lingering wet dog smell. The ceiling tiles were worryingly damp and I was sat tapping away at my computer amidst a sea of wires and other electricals. But Estates were on the case, the unsung superheroes of SE1. A mere hour after a job reference number was created they march in (a leak apparently being more serious than a blocked sink, they'd sent the Top Bloke for the occasion). Brandishing a clipboard he looks up at the leak with an expression bearing years of closely honed expertise. And he says...

"Oh. Bugger."

I've not seen him since then.