The Terrors of Tooting

On Thursday I went to work from Ingrave across the fields. Last week, after the rain, the cracks in the earth had softened into gummy mouths and the clayey soil had clung to my shoes, undermining my progress. This week it was bone dry again. The crops had turned golden, from last week's green. I have to suppose that this is normal. Even if they turned blue I'd have to accept it, I suppose.

Walking out across this space makes me feel like I'm exploring the African savannah. Were an ostrich to appear, trotting across the field towards me, I would hardly be surprised. This is, in fact, a distinct possibility, since there is an ostrich farm not far away. I have no idea what I would do in this eventuality. Probably fall back on my Customer Service training. Greet it 'politely and positively' and endeavour to manage its expectations.

Friday, I walked out into the morning and it was warm already, not the slightest chill in the air. 'I pronounce it the loveliest day of the year!', I bellowed at the office. 'We should all have it off!' It immediately clouded over. Luckily, the office was empty anyway. Only four people turned up at all. So we couldn't really spare anyone to go to the 'Absence and Sickness' teleconference on the third floor.

Someone was in the Accounts spreadsheet, which was 'locked by the Administrator'. None of us were in it, so it was a bit of a mystery. 'It's like a thriller', I said, perhaps a little hysterically. 'Who is the Administrator?' The conclusion was that it must be one of our superiors in the Centre at Tooting. We amused ourselves by picturing him being chased around by unearthly white globes, as in The Prisoner. For all we know, it really is like that in Tooting.