timelord, landlord

It seems that I am set to move in with Dave - or possibly into a lock-up garage round the back, one of the two. I was briefly distracted, however, by the appearance of what was described as 'a large Victorian room' on Rightmove. It would almost be worth it, I thought, just to be able to utter the phrase: 'I live in a Large Victorian Room'.

I would feel obliged to acquire a matching lifestyle - a pipe and a manservant, at the very least. It's a houseshare though, and it's difficult to sustain that sort of thing when you have to share a toilet with (shudder) other people. So I suppose it's the lock-up garage for me. Unless the room really is large, like the Tardis. (Is there a toilet in the Tardis? I can only suppose that there must be.) Perhaps the room really is Victorian, and you travel back a century when you step over the threshold - that certainly beats a tatty Hill Street Blues poster. Maybe I could travel through space and time in my Large Victorian Room, solving mysteries. At the very least, this would look good on my intranet profile at work.

I don't seem to be able to edit my intranet profile at the moment, mind you. My hobby, it seems, is forever going to be 'teaching chickens to type.' It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it isn't how I would really like to be remembered.

no alarms and no surprises please

There was a spider in the corridor at work. I reported it. Eventually our 'spider marshal', the other Martin, removed it using a glass and a 'Feeling Faint' leaflet.

On the whole, though, the week was not overly stressful. Lorraine, who was off last week, leaving me alone in admin, returned. Now she could resume her usual task of moderating the photos people send in to express their support for organ donation on the internet. Performing that task last week, I had a bit of a shock: one lady's enthusiasm for organ donation was so great that she submitted a picture of certain parts of herself - well they may or may not have been hers, but they certainly weren't her (or anybody's) face, unless they were bearded and very deformed. It was not the kind of thing one expects to see at work on a Monday morning (depending on your job of course).

I didn't know quite how to handle it. It seemed that perhaps I should mention it to someone, but it was hard to find the right tone. Jokey? Outraged? Should I run into the next office screaming: 'Vagina!' Or should I discreetly go over to my supervisor and say: 'I've got something to show you...'?

Neither seemed quite right.

Not liking the idea of people standing around my monitor gawping at genitals, I eventually decided to delete it using the standard response for an 'inappropriate image' and not speak of it - well, except here on the world wide web of course, but who looks at that?

Nothing of comparable outrageousness happened during the rest of that week, although the day after that there was a fire alarm. Once outside we wondered if this was a ruse on the part of the powers that be to get everybody out in the daylight and ascertain how many people still worked in the Centre; if it was few enough, they would close the place then and there ('Sorry, you can't go back inside, it's a Premier Inn now.')

Either this wasn't the case or there were still too many of us, because they let us back in. The cause of the alarm is still unknown, but it may have been because they were testing the generator earlier, which always produces a lot of smoke. Possibly the fire brigade operates under the time-honoured principle that there's 'no smoke without fire'.

Although in this case, there was.

Swine Eleven

'Obama condemns Koran burning plan', said a BBC news headline. I agree - that doesn't sound like a very good plan at all, does it? It's some ghastly pastor in America called Terry, wanting to offend radical Muslims and - what the Hell? - all the other Muslims too, why not? He is fed up with Muslims getting all riled up about everything while Christians just sit there peacefully and take it. Isn't that what they're supposed to do though? Whatever happened to loving your enemy?

A listener to Jeremy Vine said the pastor should go ahead and burn the thing 'rather than being dictated to by world leaders'. Well yes, it's coming to something when you're letting world leaders dictate to you, isn't it?

Meanwhile, in Brentwood, a notice on the window of a new shop said that Peppa Pig would be in attendance at the shop's opening - on September 11th! I'm surprised that Obama didn't get wind of this - Peppa Pig has already offended against radical Muslim sensibilities (so it says on the internet) by - well, simply by being a pig, I suppose. Or at least, a popular one. This seems like another real slap in the face for Islam - OK, so it didn't actually say that she would be burning copies of the Koran, but you never can tell with Peppa. It's all down to how she's feeling on the day.

the signs were all there

Back to work. I suppose it's a sign of the times that a room down the corridor has been renamed the Redeployment Room. It's a snazzy looking sign which, when you look closer, is only laminated card. Nothing for George Osborne to worry about there then.

This is the room where we used to wash our mugs up, but I'm afraid to go in there now in case I re-emerge as a cleaner.

Upstairs there's a sign above the photocopier telling you to ring Facilities before the toner runs out. Were I a more officious person, I would be on the phone to them daily - 'It hasn't run out yet...' - but even though this is the kind of behaviour the NHS seems to encourage, I haven't.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, Phil in Eastenders is on crack. Naturally he was a braindead stumbling addict minutes after trying it for the first time. The announcer said that he had 'hit rock bottom', then a week or so later he said that he'd 'reached a new low'. How is this possible unless Phil is tunnelling through the earth? Perhaps, Dave suggested, he will reach the Chilean miners soon.