A fun end to a busy week
Jun. 1st, 2012 11:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sawylIt's been a long, long week even for a month that seems to have consisted of nothing but long weeks. There've been late finishes to complete OS upgrades, to deal with the consequences of catastrophic meltdowns, to dispatch information the US in the hope of getting some turnaround overnight, even a few Sundays sacrificed to deal with urgent problems.
And today hasn't exactly broken the trend. In early to deal with the remaining work form yesterday — stuff I'd been unable to finish because building management cut the power to my floor at 6 o'clock, forcing me to leave things half done — I dashed off home at 1pm once all the urgent stuff was complete, with the intention of having the afternoon off. But it was not to meant to be and I spent the bulk of the afternoon on the phone, working remotely, dealing with the latest series of crises whilst also trying to clear away a whole load of political nonsense in an attempt to maximise the utility of the handful of working days left after next week's bank holidays.
Abandoning work at five, I thought I'd have time for a quick, stress-busting cycle to Dawlish and back before this evening's entertainments, so I got changed and hit the road. The ride itself was enjoyable and I arrived home in good time, but mere seconds after getting through the door and putting my bike away, I got yet another call about yet another crisis and had to spend half an hour checking things out and phoning around to work out just what was going on and when it was likely to finish, by which point I was running late — I didn't think anyone would've appreciated it if I'd turned up in my stinky cycling gear! Luckily I wasn't the anything like the last to arrive: AC, normally precisely punctual, turned up even later after her siesta overran.
Supper, notionally to mark Dr S's first day as proper civil servant but also to christen the R's new dinner service, consisted of summery salads and, for the carnivores, charcuteries cooked on a hot rock, with one of F's legendary pavlovas to finish. The conversation was good, despite disturbing threads about the possibilities of post-zombie apocalypse cannibalism and the secret affection that beats in even the most convinced of green hearts for Clarkson. Everyone was on good form: M and B turned out to share a similar sense of humour, M was teased about his refusal to eat anything green (he was particularly proud of himself for having starting to eat tomatoes), while AC and I spent the evening indulging in a particularly shameless flirtation.
After dinner, we wound down with a photo montage set initially to Debussy's Clair de Lune — which, rather embarrassingly, I initially thought was one of the Satie Gymnopedie — and then, by popular mandiate, to Randy Newman's You've Got a Friend in Me, before the larks amongst us headed off home, tired but happy...
And today hasn't exactly broken the trend. In early to deal with the remaining work form yesterday — stuff I'd been unable to finish because building management cut the power to my floor at 6 o'clock, forcing me to leave things half done — I dashed off home at 1pm once all the urgent stuff was complete, with the intention of having the afternoon off. But it was not to meant to be and I spent the bulk of the afternoon on the phone, working remotely, dealing with the latest series of crises whilst also trying to clear away a whole load of political nonsense in an attempt to maximise the utility of the handful of working days left after next week's bank holidays.
Abandoning work at five, I thought I'd have time for a quick, stress-busting cycle to Dawlish and back before this evening's entertainments, so I got changed and hit the road. The ride itself was enjoyable and I arrived home in good time, but mere seconds after getting through the door and putting my bike away, I got yet another call about yet another crisis and had to spend half an hour checking things out and phoning around to work out just what was going on and when it was likely to finish, by which point I was running late — I didn't think anyone would've appreciated it if I'd turned up in my stinky cycling gear! Luckily I wasn't the anything like the last to arrive: AC, normally precisely punctual, turned up even later after her siesta overran.
Supper, notionally to mark Dr S's first day as proper civil servant but also to christen the R's new dinner service, consisted of summery salads and, for the carnivores, charcuteries cooked on a hot rock, with one of F's legendary pavlovas to finish. The conversation was good, despite disturbing threads about the possibilities of post-zombie apocalypse cannibalism and the secret affection that beats in even the most convinced of green hearts for Clarkson. Everyone was on good form: M and B turned out to share a similar sense of humour, M was teased about his refusal to eat anything green (he was particularly proud of himself for having starting to eat tomatoes), while AC and I spent the evening indulging in a particularly shameless flirtation.
After dinner, we wound down with a photo montage set initially to Debussy's Clair de Lune — which, rather embarrassingly, I initially thought was one of the Satie Gymnopedie — and then, by popular mandiate, to Randy Newman's You've Got a Friend in Me, before the larks amongst us headed off home, tired but happy...
